The Age of Assassins
by blackwingedheaven
Summary: Aventus Aretino has left Dawnstar Sanctuary behind to train as a bard in Solitude. His new life brings with it new challenges and new difficulties-but also new opportunities. The Age of Assassins has begun. Set in the same continuity as Heiwako's stories including "Darkness Rises When Silence Dies" and "For the Future of Skyrim." Skyrim is copyright Bethesda. Review please!
1. Chapter 1: The New Kid

**Chapter 1: The New Kid**

I was just getting settled into my new room when I heard the door open behind me. Looking back, I saw the browned face of a Redguard boy, maybe a year or two older than me. He wore the good-quality Imperial-style tunic and trousers that were common in the city of Solitude, and he was carrying a lute under one arm. We stared at each other in surprise for a moment, the corner of a bedsheet in my hand, until he finally stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"You'll have to forgive my surprise," he said with a slight smile, putting his lute down on the desk next to his bed. "I didn't realize that I was getting a roommate."

"Yeah," I responded, "sorry about that. I just got here this morning, and things have been a little crazy."

"I imagine that it must have been. Crazy, I mean. Everyone else has been moved in for days, and classes start tomorrow."

"If I could have gotten here any sooner, I would have," I offered. "The roads have just been bad, what with the civil war and all." I extended a hand in friendship, hoping to salvage what was left of a first impression, and I was grateful when he took it.

"Ataf," he finally said by way of introduction. "I'm the youngest bard at the college."

"Probably not anymore," I laughed. "The name's Aventus. Aventus Aretino. I'm fourteen."

"Seriously?" he asked, looking me up and down. "I would have guessed you were at least a year older than me." He paused for a moment. "Or that you were a Nord."

"Imperial, I'm afraid," I replied. I took the opportunity to sit down on the edge of my bed so that I wasn't looming over Ataf. "Originally from Windhelm, though."

"That would be why you're 'afraid' of being an Imperial then," he smiled, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "You seem like an interesting person, Aventus Aretino. Fourteen years old and accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in Skyrim. An Imperial from Ulfric Stormcloak's capital living in the heart of the Empire's power. Willing to brave the roads during a civil war just to come to school. I'd love to hear your story."

"No, you wouldn't," I said more seriously than I intended. When Ataf looked at me strangely, I laughed and rubbed the back of my head nervously. "I just mean that I'm more boring than you're making me out to be. There's nothing unusual about me."

"I somehow doubt that," Ataf smirked.

"Really," I insisted. "I'm nothing special."

As the walls of Solitude came into view on an early morning on the first of Hearthfire, I sighed.

"What's wrong, sweety?" Hecate asked.

"I can't believe I have to go two years without killing anyone," I complained.

"Aww," she said with mock sympathy. "Sorry, hon. Maybe we can work in a contract killing on your spring break or something."

"Really?" I asked hopefully. I looked back up at the outline of the Empire's stronghold in Skyrim, a slight smile playing on my face. "That would be swell."

We were riding side by side on the driver's seat of a wagon with most of my worldly possessions in the back, along well as a full-grown ice wolf named Pavot. I looked over at her, marveling at the transformation that had occurred on the road between Dawnstar and Solitude. She was always beautiful—long, dark hair, ocean-blue eyes, and a tanned complexion that spoke to both her Imperial heritage and her love of sunbathing—but as Hecate, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, she usually had a dangerous look about her. She preferred clothes that were easy to move in, since she was an archer by training, but would occasionally dress in the black-and-red leathers of the Brotherhood.

Right now, she had her hair up in a double-braid that had its loose ends pinned to the back of her head. The effect took ten years off her face—and she already looked younger than her thirty-five years. She was wearing a stylish traveling dress in a blue-green color that made her eyes sparkle. Her daedric bow, the lethal weapon she called Styx, was nowhere to be seen. She could have easily passed for my older sister rather than my mother, a cover story that I still wasn't entirely comfortable with, given some of my feelings toward her.

Not that she had ever noticed them in the slightest.

"Hecate-" I started.

"Diana," she interrupted. "You have to remember to call me 'Diana' while we're in public from now on."

I sighed to myself, more quietly this time. I was terrible with cover identities, let alone multiple persistent ones. It was why Hecate—or Diana, rather—had enrolled me in the Bards College of Solitude under my own name. It was a risk if I were to ever be associated with the Dark Brotherhood, but I was far better at concealment and stealth than I was at verbal deceptions. Training me in such delicate arts was one of the reasons that Diana had wanted me to become a bard in the first place. She felt that it would be a good learning experience.

Still, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. After all, I was the youngest member of the Dark Brotherhood—an elite order of assassins in the service of Sithis, the Dread Lord of the Void, and of his envoy, the Night Mother. Our blades drank the blood of the wicked, exacting holy vengeance for those desperate enough to enact the Black Sacrament. In my two years with the Brotherhood, I had killed over a dozen men and women, earned more money than many citizens would see in a decade, and honed my body into a living weapon.

Now I was being sent away—away from the family and the profession I had come to love—to sit around with a bunch of lute-playing milk-drinkers for two years.

Looking back at Diana, I realized that I would have done far worse just for her asking.

"Diana," I said, carefully emphasizing the name, "are you sure I have to go with you to the Blue Palace? Wouldn't it be better if I just settled in to the college?"

"Absolutely not," she replied firmly. "Elisif the Fair is an old friend of mine, and she's dying to meet you."

Diana looked like she was less than excited about the whole thing too and just trying to put on a cheerful disposition about it. I knew that she hadn't wanted the two of us to be linked publicly—it was just too much of a risk to the Brotherhood—but when she enrolled me into the Bards College, she had been required to come up with a reason to be interested in my well-being for Viarmo, the headmaster. The quickest lie she had been able to come up with was that I was her adopted son.

And this was where things went out of control.

As Ulfric Stormcloak's rebellion had pressed ever closer to the Imperial holdings in the west of Skyrim, things in Solitude had become more desperate. When the news that Ulfric had recruited the Dragonborn, legendary savior of the world, to his cause… Well, Elisif had apparently taken the news poorly. The Dragonborn had been a close personal friend of hers, and the news that the woman she admired and respected had sided with her husband's murderer had left her inconsolable.

The Dragonborn—a woman named Diana. Who was riding with me toward Solitude. Who had taken the name Hecate when she had forsaken her heroic status to become the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.

The problem here should be apparent.

Well, Hecate had visited Solitude a while back, run into Elisif by accident, and explained away her two-year absence with a lie about being married and settling down. She had assured the fair widow that she had not, in fact, joined up with the Stormcloak Rebellion and was simply trying to live a quiet life. The truth would have been even worse. The knowledge that Ulfric's "Dragonborn" was a pretender had comforted the young widow, and Hecate had been willing to leave it at that.

Unfortunately, as headmaster of the Bards College, Viarmo was in frequent contact with Elisif. At some point, the two of them had compared stories and realized that Diana the Dragonborn had adopted a son—who she now wanted to enroll in the Bards College. Everything had snowballed from there. Now, Diana was virtually obligated to make an appearance at the Blue Palace, the seat of Jarl Elisif's power, and formally present me to her court. Moreover, the "false" Dragonborn had demonstrated an actual ability to use the thu'um—the power that men sometimes called Shouting—which made Diana's return to the public life a necessity.

This was why I hated lying. I just preferred to kill people.

Once Ataf sat down, I stood back up to continue putting away my things. My room at the Bards College was smaller than the room I had slept in back at Dawnstar Sanctuary, but more private. One roommate was less than I usually had, since only the highest-ranking members of the Dark Brotherhood had private sleeping quarters. The rest of us shared a common sleeping room, living shoulder-to-shoulder as a family, if occasionally a dysfunctional one.

I walked over to where Hecate had left my traveling trunk and bent down to move it to the end of my bed. My back suddenly flared with pain, and I saw stars. I must have blacked out for a second, because Ataf was suddenly next to me, steadying me by holding onto my shoulder.

"By the Divines," he cursed. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I managed to gasp before sitting down heavily on the edge of the trunk. I was so used to doing for myself that I had managed to forget that I was still recovering.

A few weeks ago, I had been on contract out near Falkreath when things went terribly wrong. I had wound up with extensive injuries, including cuts and bruises, cracked ribs, and a sprained back. Honestly, I was lucky to have survived. I hadn't fully recovered when the deadline for school came around, so Hecate had risked us traveling while I was still healing. It hadn't been too bad for the most part, but trying to lift my chest on my own had been a sharp, painful reminder of my continuing state of reduced strength.

"Maybe I should get a teacher…" Ataf said nervously. I must have looked even worse than I felt.

"No," I insisted, a little more steadily. "It's nothing serious." I stood up, my knees shaking more than I would have liked. "See, I'm fine now."

"What was that?" he asked. "You looked like you were stabbed in the gut."

"Oh, I fell off a horse a few days ago," I lied. "Bruised my back and ribs, but nothing too serious."

"Well, you should take better care of yourself," Ataf chided. "Let me help you move your trunk."

"I appreciate the help," I smiled.

Working together, the two of us managed to move the heavy chest into place at the foot of my bed, though I was sweating and shaking by the end of it. Ataf looked a little winded himself.

"How in Oblivion did you even get this thing in here?" he asked when we were done.

"My… mother… had some of the staff bring it in," I told him. "I would have had them put it where it belongs if I had been here, but she insisted that I come with her on business while they got our things put away."

"Your mother has business in the capital?" Ataf asked, the inquisitive gleam returning to his eye.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. This was going to be a long two years.

After dropping off our wagon at the Bards College, Hecate and I had walked down a few blocks to her house in Solitude, Proudspire Manor. It was conveniently located less than a five minute walk from the college, situated in a very upscale residential neighborhood that housed some of Solitude's most prominent citizens. Proudspire Manor shared a walkway between its front door and the door of another, similarly sized mansion, a style of connected homes that seemed common in this part of the city.

As we approached the manor house, Hecate's face suddenly went tight and drawn. I followed her gaze to the front door of the opposing home, which stood slightly open.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

"That house…" she said nervously. "I didn't think anyone was living there."

"Did you know the previous resident?" I asked.

"Only a little," Hecate responded. "I was a guest at her wedding."

Before she could explain any further, a Dunmer woman wearing the heavy armor of a warrior came through the open doorway. Hecate's eyes widened in recognition, as did the Dunmer's eyes when she glanced our way.

"Dragonborn," said the Dark Elf with a slight nod.

"A pleasure as always, Irileth," she responded, using the lighter tone she normally adopted when she was being Diana. "I take it Jarl Balgruuf is around."

"His lordship has already been escorted to the Blue Palace for the morning court," she responded airily. I got the impression she didn't like Hecate very much. "He asked me to come back and get his children ready."

"I thought you housecarls never left your jarl's side," Hecate snarked.

"Normally, I wouldn't," Irileth growled. "But Balgruuf's children take forever to get ready in the mornings."

"No, Irileth," responded a young man with a pleasant smile as he ducked between the doorframe and the glowering housecarl. "Dagny takes forever to get ready in the mornings. The rest of us have slightly more reasonable grooming times." He turned to look at Hecate and nodded. "Hello, Diana. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Frothar?" she asked. "I barely recognized you. You've gotten big."

I took a moment to appraise Balgruuf's son. He was almost as tall as me, but broader-shouldered. I guessed that he was perhaps two or three years my senior. He had dark brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail and was clean-shaven. All in all, he was passably handsome, but it was his clothing that made me feel like a backwater nobody more than his looks. I felt like a grimy peasant in my rough riding leathers; Frothar was immaculately dressed in the latest Solitude fashions, a dark-blue doublet and leather pants with a short jacket and fur-lined cloak. At his side was a gleaming, oiled scabbard with the jeweled hilt of a dueling sword sticking up from it.

The clothing transformed him from a good-looking boy to a prince. I couldn't help but feel a little envious. While I had finally come to understand that I wasn't bad-looking, I felt that I had a forgettable face. It helped as an assassin, but it also meant that there was less there to accentuate. On the few occasions I had been required to adopt a disguise for a contract, I found that wearing fancy clothes just made me look silly.

"Father will be happy to see you," he continued, paying me no attention at all.

"As I will to see him," Hecate responded.

"Dagny's almost ready," came a sullen voice from behind Irileth. She stood aside to make room for another teenaged boy, this one my age or perhaps a year or so younger. He was shorter than his brother, and darker of hair and eye. His hair was almost as long as Frothar's but worn loose and messy. From the heavy bags under his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept very well—in years. He was not as well-dressed as his brother, but if it hadn't been for the tired eyes and the vaguely annoyed expression, he would have been significantly more handsome.

"Thank you, Nelkir," Irileth said, then leaned in through the doorway. "Dagny!" she shouted. "We're leaving!" I couldn't hear whatever response might have come, but Irileth paused for a moment before shouting again. "Then leave it! You don't need two of them!"

Heavy footsteps pounded through the house, loud enough that I could hear them from outside, and then a girl came stomping out onto the portico, nearly barreling into Irileth and her brothers before coming to a stop. Her hair was a dark-blonde color, pulled back into a single heavy braid that fell past her hips. Her dress was a dark blue that complemented her older brother's doublet, accented with lighter blue ribbons and a blue-grey sash. I could only describe her as "chubby." She wasn't fat—just soft all over, like she had never lost her baby fat after hitting her growth spurt. Though she was shorter than both of her brothers, she was clearly the middle child.

"Why the rush, Irileth?" she asked haughtily. "It's not like Daddy is going to have time for us with all of the war councils going on."

"It's important that we're with Father as much as possible," Frothar chastised. "He needs us near right now."

"You mean important for his image," Nelkir groused as Irileth locked up behind them.

"Please, children," Irileth sighed as she turned back to them. "Let's not argue in front of the Dragonborn."

"Oh, gracious!" Dagny exclaimed, finally looking our way. "I hadn't realized that we had guests."

"Neighbors, actually," Hecate responded. "I hadn't been aware that Jarl Balgruuf had moved in next door to me."

"It's not like you're in Solitude very often, Diana," Frothar teased.

"Hopefully that will change now," she responded solemnly. "We're stopping in at Proudspire to change clothes and freshen up before I speak to Jarl Elisif."

"We?" asked Dagny, looking over at me. Her expression said that she had seen better-looking skeevers than me. "Who's your squire?"

"My son," she said, then coughed to stifle a laugh when Dagny and Irileth's eyes bulged. I smiled too, trying to keep a pleasant face. "I had hoped to introduce him at court today, but I suppose you all get a special preview. Aventus, it's my honor to introduce the children of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater: Frothar, Dagny, and Nelkir. Also," she indicated the Dunmer woman, "this is Irileth, Balgruuf's housecarl."

Frothar strode down off the portico to us and extended a hand to me in friendship. I took it gladly, though I was a little put off when he leaned in and hugged me too. I knew that Nords traditionally exchanged embraces instead of handshakes, but it was more physical contact than I was used to from the Brotherhood.

"I wasn't aware you had a son," Irileth said suspiciously.

"I'm adopted," I offered over Frothar's shoulder. Dagny's face immediately became less interested. "My birth parents died when I was little. Diana was kind enough to take me in and give me a home."

"Don't let Irileth or my sister get to you, Aventus," Frothar said after he released me from his powerful grip. "Irileth is always sour, and Dagny's just upset that there weren't any sweetrolls left in the house this morning."

"At least you can get a decent sweetroll in Solitude," she sniffed. "Unlike Whiterun."

At the mention of Whiterun, Frothar's good humor seemed to vanish, and Nelkir's face became even darker. Irileth locked the door to their manor with a snap and turned on her heel. Dagny seemed to realize that she had said something unpleasant and walked away from the housecarl. She barely gave me a glance as she flounced past me. Nelkir quietly trailed behind her, though he gave me a slight nod as he went.

"I suppose we'll see you both at the Blue Palace," Frothar offered as he moved to join his siblings. Irileth came up behind them, nodding respectfully to Hecate as she passed.

"Seeing those three makes me feel old," Hecate sighed once they were a good way down the street.

"What about seeing me?" I joked.

"You'll always be my little boy," she smiled, not realizing how much that statement pained me.

Ataf had finally gone out for the evening, leaving me to rest in our shared room. Mostly, I was tired from all of the questions that Ataf had asked me while I was settling in, rather than weary from the trip. Hopefully, my roommate's enthusiasm on the topic of me would die down in a day or two, once I emphasized to him exactly how totally dull and normal I was.

After Ataf had been gone for a few minutes, I locked the door to the room. He had a key, naturally, but I would hear him if he tried to unlock it, which was the important thing. It was time to look through my things and see what presents my family had sent along to keep me occupied in my exile. I wasn't supposed to be taking contracts while I was at school, so I doubted it would be anything interesting.

When I opened up my traveling trunk, I was pleasantly surprised.

Beneath the several outfits of decent clothing, extra boots, personal supplies, and a couple of blankets was a hidden catch that unlocked a panel from the bottom of the trunk. Lifting the panel revealed nothing at all—only a couple of inches of space where one might hide a journal or coins. I decided that I should probably mock up a fake diary and put a few septims in here to make it look more authentic.

The truth is, most people didn't snoop at all—and the ones that do normally stop when they find something that's been hidden. They rarely suspect a second layer of secrecy.

I felt around the edges of the hidden space and found the four recessed buttons that unlocked the real hiding spot. Once all four were depressed, a drawer popped out of the front of the chest along the bottom, so subtly that I had to grab the edge of it with my fingernails to get it moving. It was about six inches deep and ran the width and length of the chest. As I pulled it out, I whistled softly in appreciation for Nazir's planning skills.

The drawer was covered by a thin layer of wrinkled felt, making it look like an empty chamber at first glance. Lifting it up revealed a cache of weapons and my personal suit of Dark Brotherhood armor—red and black, with a cowled mask to conceal an assassin's identity. I traced my fingers along the black hand symbol emblazoned on its chest, feeling a surge of pride. Laid into shaped grooves on either side of the armor were the tools of my trade: a garrote, a brace of throwing knives, a chisel-tipped dagger used for puncturing armor, and a dozen vials of poison and potions, all carefully labeled. I made a mental note to send a nice thank-you letter to Babette.

The only objects I didn't recognize were wrapped in cloth. When I unwrapped them, I found a note, written in Nazir's tight, neat script, saying only "For Aventus: Practice!" Situated under the note was a pair of gloves—heavily padded, with multiple bracing straps, and riveted metal strips along the knuckles and top of the hand. I pulled them on to find that they were heavier than they looked; I guessed that the metal was ebony from its weight and color. When I tried an experimental punch with them, I was surprised at the way the gloves increased the force of my swing. I smiled, recognizing their purpose. Nazir was always complaining that I needed to improve my hand-to-hand skills, so I supposed this was his way of giving me a little nudge.

When I looked back into the chest, I noticed that there had been one last thing tucked under the gauntlets. It was a metal cylinder a little longer than my hand with a catch along one side and a weighted knob on the top. The whole thing was much heavier than it looked. I pushed the catch but nothing happened. I tried swinging it around a couple of times, expecting some sort of result only to be disappointed. I was starting to get frustrated until I decided to push the catch and swing it at the same time.

As I did, the weighted knob extended away from the handle, nearly tripling the weapon's overall length before coming to a stop. The weapon clicked into place and I released the catch, testing its weight and heft. It was some sort of telescoping mace, collapsible to make it more easily concealed, but it was heavy enough to crush bones when swung at full force. I thumbed the catch again to collapse the mace back into its original form and smiled. On the bottom of the handle was a maker's mark, stamped into the metal—a dragon coiled into the shape of a crescent moon. It was Diana's mark, as opposed to Hecate's preference for a tragedy mask. This was a present that I could keep with me, rather than having to hide it with all of my other gear.

I tucked the collapsible mace into my belt and put everything else back, carefully folding the chest back together and relocking all of the hidden catches before putting my clothes and possessions back on top. After that was done, I unlocked the door, grateful that Ataf hadn't decided to come back while I was busy.

Now that I knew what I had to work with, I had to find a place where I could keep up with my physical training. Just because I was off the active list for the next two years was no reason to get soft. I had originally thought that I could just head over to Proudspire Manor a couple of times a week and train in the basement, but my this morning's events had disabused me of that notion.

Proudspire Manor had been a short stop for us, just long enough to change clothes into something more suitable for my presentation to the jarl of Solitude, so I hadn't gotten a real sense of the place. Most of the house seemed unfurnished, which Hecate assured me she would take care of with the jarl's steward once we were done with court matters.

Once we were cleaned and dressed, we took a short walking tour of Solitude. I couldn't deny that it was by far the most beautiful city I had ever been in. Hecate had been very disappointed when I told her about what the Stormcloaks had done to Whiterun; I had grown up in grey and gloomy Windhelm, so I was used to the Nordic aesthetic—bare stone walls and cobbled streets—but Hecate was used to the clean wooden walls of Imperial homes, adorned with paint and flowers. I imagine that Nord cities being less prone to fires than those in Cyrodiil wasn't something she cared much about.

Solitude was something entirely different, though. It combined the traditional stone buildings preferred by Nords with the smooth designs and beautiful adornments of Imperial cities. It was a true fusion of the two cultures, hovering on a promontory of stone above the Carth River delta. The city gave an impression of stability and grandeur, untouched by the civil war beyond its walls.

It was an impression only somewhat sullied by the extra-large contingent of Imperial legionnaires training in the courtyards around Castle Dour, the Empire's great fortress at the heart of the provincial capital. I could see soldiers in the segmented armor of the Legion practicing formations and drilling through the open gates that led to the castle. I started to veer toward it when Hecate took my arm and pointed us onward.

"Aren't we going to the castle?" I asked.

"No," she replied, "we're going to the palace."

"What's the difference?" I said, confused.

"A castle is a place for soldiers," she said. "A palace is a place where people actually live."

As she explained this, we rounded a corner and I suddenly realized how foolish I had been to think that someplace as dull and practical as Castle Dour could be the heart of a city like this. Stretching out onto a spur of rock hanging over the river, the sun behind it like a halo, was the Blue Palace. Though it was made of the same fitted stones as much of the city, its roofs and gables were tiled in blue slate and blue-veined marble, and its high walls were broken every few feet with huge stained-glass windows. Its arched gateway led into an interior courtyard lined with boxes filled with flowers next to clustered stones covered in moss and wrought-iron benches.

It was huge, awe-inspiring, and far too much to take in during the short walk to the doors. Guards nodded to Hecate as she passed, giving no indication that her presence here was unexpected or unwelcome. The guards wore the usual face-concealing helms of Skyrim soldiers, but their red livery was a sharp contrast to the blue and grey tunics of the Stormcloaks, with whom I was more familiar.

Inside, the Blue Palace was just as impressive. The huge windows let in natural light that gave the place an airy, open feeling, and there were potted trees and flowers everywhere. Servants moved to and fro in neatly kept uniforms, while people of importance made their way through the palace to the upper level. Hecate led me up the stairs past more guards to a high-ceilinged throne room where about a dozen people milled about, waiting to talk to the woman seated on the throne.

If the Blue Palace had been beautiful, it was a pile of mud and rocks next to its most important inhabitant. Jarl Elisif the Fair lived up to her title—and more. When I first laid eyes on her, I was literally breathless for a moment. Looking at Hecate, I could see that it was the sort of reaction that never really went away; my usually resolute Listener was almost starry-eyed while looking at the young widow. Her strawberry-blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and her blue eyes seemed to take in the whole crowd without diminishing any person in it.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on.

"You're drooling," came a sardonic voice from behind me.

I spun, bringing up my left hand in a defensive gesture, before realizing that I wasn't in any danger from Dagny, the girl I had met earlier. I quickly brought my hand the rest of the way up to my chin and rubbed it to cover my reaction.

"Am not," I insisted, checking the corners of my mouth with my fingertips.

"Uh-huh," she snorted, crossing her arms and frowning. "Then were you just keeping your mouth open to stay cool?"

Before I could come up with a witty retort, the steward—a burly, red-haired man with an equally red beard—called out Diana's name.

"Diana!" he near-shouted across the room. The assembled crowd turned to look our way, and Dagny pulled back from me a few paces. "The Dragonborn has chosen to grace us with her presence!"

"Good to see you as always, Falk," Diana—she was Diana now, I had to remember—said, walking forward to clasp forearms with the man.

"I'm glad you chose today to visit the court," Falk rumbled. "We've got a few guests who had heard rumors about the Dragonborn siding with Ulfric Stormcloak and were looking for reassurance. I can't think of anyone better to reassure them than the Dragonborn herself."

"That can wait, Falk," came the lilting, demure voice of Elisif the Fair. "Can you at least give my old friend a moment to say hello to me?"

Falk stood aside as Diana walked up to the throne and knelt before it. I wasn't sure what to do exactly, so I just walked up as well and knelt beside her. I jumped slightly when I felt Elisif's soft hand touch my shoulder, and I nearly melted again when I looked up into her kind blue eyes.

"Always a pleasure, Jarl Elisif," Diana said softly.

"Stand, please," she insisted. I got the impression that Diana kneeling before the jarl was some sort of political maneuver, but I wasn't sure what it meant. "We're old friends, after all." Elisif looked back to me as I stood then asked Diana, "And who is this handsome young man?" I blushed at her words, and I could have sworn that I heard Dagny huff indignantly somewhere behind me.

"If it pleases you, Jarl Elisif," Diana said in a louder voice, turning slightly to take in part of the crowd as well as the jarl, "allow me to introduce my son." The crowd murmured briefly, and I felt slightly dizzy as the weight of their collective gaze fell on me. I was an assassin, used to working in the shadows—I had never been the object of such public scrutiny before.

"Diana," Elisif began, quirking an eyebrow, "I didn't realize you had a son at all, let alone one nearly full-grown. Would you mind explaining to the court?"

"As you already know," Diana replied, conceding to the request, "I had hoped to retire to anonymity after defeating Alduin. I felt that I had done more than enough for the world already."

"No one denies that, Dragonborn," Balgruuf said, stepping forward. "You saved Nirn itself from destruction. No one could have asked for more."

"Thank you, my jarl," Diana said with what sounded like real sincerity. "For the time I was… gone… I secluded myself away from the world to rest, recover, and train in the thu'um. During that time, I fell in love—had a family." This part was true, at least—though I doubted that the assembled courtiers would have been as approving if they had known that the family Diana was speaking about was the Dark Brotherhood.

"A few months before my battle with Alduin," she continued, "I had visited Windhelm to speak with Ulfric Stormcloak about possibly ending the war. He asked for my allegiance instead, and I refused it. The whole thing would have been a wasted trip, had it not been for Aventus here." She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder and I beamed at the crowd. This part was true enough too, if slightly distorted. "His parents had died, and he would have been sent to an orphanage—or worse, starved in the streets—had I not intervened."

"Diana saved my life," I added, looking down into the face of my savior. Divines, when had I become so much taller than her?

"Back in Cyrodiil, we believe that saving a life makes you responsible for it," Diana smoothly picked up from me. "Once I had taken Aventus in, I found that I couldn't bear to let him go again. My husband and I adopted him." The crowd made a polite show of gentle applause at her generosity, making me feel awkwardly like a show animal. "For the last several years, I've been trying to live a simple life out of the limelight. When I finally caught wind of the rumors of this false Dragonborn, I returned as soon as I could to put them to rest."

"And how do we know that you are the true Dragonborn," asked one of the courtiers, "and the one in Ulfric's service the false?"

"I could Shout at you if you like," Diana said dryly, drawing laughter from the court. "Honestly, though, it should be enough to know that Elisif and Balgruuf know me for the true Dragonborn. I'm sad to say that my personal armor—and my identity—was stolen by my former housecarl, Lydia of Whiterun." Balgruuf's face turned down at the mention of his traitorous housecarl. "I believe that she was manipulated into this by Ulfric Stormcloak, rather than acting out of any malice. We all know how charismatic the Bear of Eastmarch can be when he wants. Even I was nearly taken in by his act for a while."

"We have all seen the true colors of Ulfric Stormcloak," Elisif said darkly. "A real hero doesn't use a power like the thu'um to murder his king." Her face turned down, and her expression seemed to bring the whole room into shadow.

"In happier news," Falk said quickly, taking up the burden from his jarl, "now that the Dragonborn has returned to us, it is the court's honor to appoint a new housecarl to her."

"What?" asked Diana in confusion. "I didn't ask for a new housecarl."

"It wouldn't be right to let a thane of Haafingar go without a housecarl," Elisif said, recovering her composure. "Now that you'll be staying in Proudspire Manor a bit more regularly, you should have someone to protect your home."

"I defeated Alduin," Diana insisted. "I think I can run off any thieves that might bother me."

"I have no doubt of your prowess," Elisif smiled, "but you can't be expected to be at home all the time, even if you were planning to move to Solitude permanently. It is a gesture of the court's appreciation for all you have done." She leaned forward slightly and caught Diana's gaze. "It would mean a great deal to me."

"Of course, Jarl Elisif," Diana agreed, seemingly hypnotized by Elisif's big blue eyes. She shook herself out of it and sighed. "When do I get to meet this new housecarl?"

"I'm here!" I heard a chipper shout from across the room. "Over here!" I looked over to see a tall Nord woman wearing heavy armor jogging through the crowd. Whenever she bumped into someone, she would mutter a brief apology, all the while waving to Diana with one hand and occasionally jumping up to be seen over the crowd. Her hair was a shade darker than Elisif's and her eyes a darker blue. As she approached, I could see that her face was covered with a spattering of freckles. She wasn't as beautiful as the jarl, but otherwise the women were physically similar enough that I wondered if they were related.

"Diana Dragonborn," Falk rumbled, "allow me to introduce your housecarl, Jordis the Sword-Maiden."

"I'm honored to meet you, my thane," Jordis bubbled excitedly. "I'm so thrilled to be in your service!"

"Right…" Diana trailed off. She turned to the red-haired steward. "I take it you'll see to the furnishing of Proudspire Manor?"

"Of course, Dragonborn," he smiled.

With that exchange, court seemed to be breaking up for the day. Balgruuf came over and embraced Diana briefly before returning to his children. Dagny gave me a final scowl of disapproval before turning to follow her father out of the room. I wondered briefly how I had managed to offend her so badly in such a short amount of time, but quickly put it out of my head.

"I would appreciate it if Aventus' relationship to me stayed out of the public eye," Diana was saying to Elisif and Falk when I turned my attention back to them. "He's studying at the Bards College, and I don't want him to be targeted for any retribution against me."

"I understand completely," Elisif said, taking Diana's hand. "The dignitaries present today are all trustworthy-"

"Trustworthy enough," Falk interrupted with a grunt.

"And I'm sure that they will accede to your wishes," the jarl concluded without acknowledging the interruption.

"Thank you, Elisif," Diana said, leaning in to hug the younger woman.

"It's a shame that your husband couldn't join us today," Elisif said as they broke their hug. "Hopefully he'll be with you the next time?"

"Possibly," Diana hedged. "He's away on business a lot, so it's difficult to arrange our schedules for these sort of trips. Yet another reason I had hoped to stay away from politics."

"You're very lucky to have someone you're so anxious to spend time with," Elisif mused sadly. Diana gave her an understanding smile and patted her hand. I knew that Ulfric had murdered Elisif's husband, the former high king of Skyrim, but for her to still be so sad about losing him years later, she must have been deeply in love.

We said our goodbyes shortly after that and made our way back to Proudspire Manor. Jordis tagged along with us, smiling the whole way and occasionally making chipper commentary about how happy she was to be serving the Dragonborn, and how lucky she felt, and how nice we both seemed, and how she would do us proud… It went on at great enough length that I finally tuned it all out.

"Look," Hecate announced when we got back to the manor, "I'm only going to have one rule in this house." She gestured at the stairs, where movers were carrying furniture into the previously unoccupied rooms, then she stamped her foot. "No one is to use my bedroom while I'm gone. I don't care if I only use this place one day out of the year. That's my room, and it's only for me."

"What about Cicero?" I teased.

"Him too," she allowed, blushing.

"Who's Cicero?" Jordis asked.

"He's…" She paused, gritting her teeth hard enough that I could hear her jaw creak. "…my husband." I smiled a little; it always pleased me to see Hecate have to call Cicero her husband to other people, since she inevitably acted like being married to him was the worst thing she could imagine. It gave me hope for the future.

"Okay," Jordis smiled. "Will you be having an orgy before you leave, my thane?" I almost choked on my own tongue at the question.

"What?" Hecate managed to spit out.

"An orgy, my thane," she said formally, her eyes crossing slightly in deep thought. "I hear that Imperials have them all the time."

"Jordis," Hecate said carefully, "do you know what an orgy is?"

"I've never been to one," she responded slowly and thoughtfully, "but it would be an honor to be invited."

"No orgies," Hecate said. Her face had turned as red as a tomato, and I was having trouble breathing from holding in the laughter. "Do you mind if I talk to Aventus alone for a bit?"

"No, my thane," she said, sounding disappointed. The housecarl meandered away to supervise the movers, who were coming and going through a door on the far end of the house.

"I don't think she knows what an orgy is," I whispered once Jordis was out of earshot, struggling to stifle my giggles.

"Me neither," Hecate responded, "and I have no plans to correct her." She cleared her throat and continued on more evenly. "I'm staying at the manor overnight and leaving out in the morning. Do you have everything you'll need?" she asked.

"I'll be fine," I smiled.

"Well, just in case," Hecate continued, "let's go to the market and pick up any necessities that you might not have been able to pack. I know that you'll need a writing set and paper for classes…"

The three of us—Jordis insisted on coming along for our protection—spent the rest of the morning and part of the early afternoon in the market. Afterward, Hecate had sent Jordis home and escorted me to the Bards College.

I hoped that she would be able to visit during holidays, or that I would see her when she came to town, but I had hardened myself to the possibility that I wouldn't see Hecate for the next two years. Life was busy for an assassin—even more so when you were the voice of the Dark Brotherhood's god, responsible for the lives and deaths of dozens of people.

"I love you, Aventus," she said before she left. I knew that she meant it as a brotherly love.

"I love you too," I responded, knowing that she didn't realize I meant it a different way.

And then she was gone.

"You missed out on dinner," Ataf said as he walked in the door.

"Wasn't really hungry," I replied. I was laying on my bed, uncomfortable not because the bed was too hard or too soft, but just from its unfamiliarity. I had pulled my mandolin out of its padded case to practice, only to find out that I didn't really feel like it. Ataf wandered over to where the instrument lay on my desk and looked at it. I was gratified to notice that he didn't touch it without asking permission—I hated when people did that.

"I've never seen a lute like this," he commented.

"It's not a lute," I corrected. "It's a mandolin. They're Cyrodiilic. They have four double courses of strings, instead of the eight single courses lutes have."

"But they have the same number of strings?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, "but a different tonal range. Here, let me show you."

I sat up and took the mandolin while Ataf grabbed his lute for comparison. We stayed up together for a few more hours, exchanging stories about our musical experiences. I learned a bit about the classmates and teachers I would be meeting tomorrow, and Ataf was thrilled to learn that I actually owned books about musical theory.

If this was what being normal was like, then maybe I could get used to it after all.

…_to be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2: No One of Note

**Chapter 2: No One of Note**

In the last several years, I had killed over a dozen men and women with my own hands. I had fought giant frostbite spiders, been hunted by a troll through the catacombs below Sanctuary, broken the heart of a centuries-old vampire, and faced near-impossible odds in battle. At fourteen, I was a full-fledged member of the Dark Brotherhood. I thought that I was prepared for any pain or terror that life might bring me.

I found that standing in front of a room full of strangers and talking about myself was by far the most terrifying thing I had ever done.

"My name is Aventus Aretino," I began. "I'm originally from Windhelm."

I paused, looking around at the faces of my classmates and the other students, their eyes fixed on me. The full student body of the Bards College was present in the practice hall for orientation. The teachers were in the back of the room, save for Headmaster Viarmo, the Altmer who was in charge of the college. He was sitting next to the lectern I was standing behind, watching me intently with his intense golden eyes. The collective weight of the crowd's gaze made me sweat; a slow, cold rumble rolled through my stomach, and I clenched my throat to avoid vomiting.

"I don't really have much to say about myself," I continued lamely once my gut had stopped churning. "I'm not a very interesting person."

"I very much doubt that, Master Aretino," Viarmo said as he stood and nodded me back to my seat. My eyes widened; was he going to tell everyone what he knew about me? As I shakily walked away he continued, "One of the first lessons you will all need to learn as bards—as Aventus has demonstrated—is how to portray yourself as the most interesting person in the room. It's not enough to be a good musician or a good storyteller. A good bard must be a master of self-promotion."

"Does that mean a bard should lie to make himself sound more interesting?" I asked as I sat down.

"A bard never lies if he can help it," Viarmo scolded. "However, there is nothing in our code of ethics against presenting the facts with particular emphasis." The Altmer pulled an apple from his pocket and made it dance across the back of his hand as he spoke. "I could say that an apple is red and sweet, but 'red' and 'sweet' are common words. Everyone knows them. If I instead say that this apple is a stunning shade of crimson, with a piquant but honeyed flavor, though…" He took a bite from the apple for emphasis. "Emphasis and vocabulary are vital to our work."

"Sounds like a bunch of flowery nonsense to me," I said before I could catch myself. The students near me chuckled and snickered.

"Flowers are beautiful, Master Aretino," Viarmo said with a scowl. "Everyone loves flowers—even if they depend on roots and grains to live."

I flinched with the rebuke, and I could hear some of my classmates chuckle. Viarmo continued his lecture but I was only half-listening. I had a chair near the window, and my eyes kept drifting to the beautiful view outside. The ocean below Solitude was a different shade of blue than the dark ocean north of Dawnstar or the grey waters around Windhelm, crystalline and reflective in ways that I didn't know the sea could be. Ever since I had gotten my first good view of the ocean from the city, I had begun to understand why Hecate loved it so much.

* * *

I was up before dawn my first day at the Bards College. It had been my habit to get up early for the last several years, and I didn't sleep very much. Successful assassins learned to sleep little and sleep lightly. Unsuccessful assassins wound up with their throats cut. At least, that's what Nazir had always told me.

Thinking about the Redguard—our Speaker and our family's resident chef—made me melancholy for home, so I resolved to spend the morning doing something productive to take my mind off how much I missed everyone. I pulled on a pair of trousers and a loose shirt, then quietly slunk out of the room to avoid waking Ataf. The dormitory was arranged with rooms on either side of the hallway and a communal bath at the end of the hall.

Solitude was advanced enough that they had something I had never seen before: running water. The wash basins had small metal spigots over them that turned to produce a stream of cold water. I was clever enough to figure it out after a moment, but I was grateful that no one was around to see my fumbling attempts at looking for a water pump. There was also a curtained-off area on the other side of the chamber; checking behind it, I found an Imperial-style bath, big enough for a dozen people to wash at the same time if they were particularly friendly. Given the number of rooms I had counted on my floor, I figured that it wasn't meant that everyone who lived here would bathe at the same time.

I stripped down and lowered myself into the water, pleasantly surprised to find that it was quite warm. I didn't know how they kept it heated, and didn't particularly care. A warm bath was a luxury back at Dawnstar Sanctuary, and most of the inns I had stayed at since joining my profession charged extra if you wanted a bath at all. I didn't relish the idea of bathing with other people, but it didn't bother me all that much either. In the Dark Brotherhood, you got used to sharing personal space with others.

Though the bath was pleasant, I didn't stay long. I toweled off, dressed again, then headed outside. The bards didn't seem to be awake yet for the most part, so the building was nearly silent as I made my way to the rear doors. The pre-dawn city was quiet as well, and cold. Solitude had better weather than my native Windhelm, but autumn mornings in Skyrim were still frigid. I shivered, cursing myself for not having put on a coat, and looked around.

The rear exit of the Bards College opened onto a broad stone plaza with crenellated walls that looking out over the Carth River and to the Sea of Ghosts beyond. At the middle of the plaza was a tall post festooned with drooping and faded ribbons; the stones around it were blackened, as if by fire, and several other patches bore old scorch marks as well. I wondered if it was a legacy of the local festival Hecate had mentioned to me, though I couldn't remember the details right away. Something about burning?

Shaking away the attempt to remember, I put my fingers to my lips and whistled. It wasn't long before I got my response, a low and mournful howl from close by. I smiled at the sound. It had been painful to leave Pavot at Proudspire Manor rather than bringing him with me to the college, but Headmaster Viarmo had been insistent that since I had a place in the city to keep him other than my dormitory, I should keep him there. Jordis had promised to watch after the ice wolf, but I had little faith in the housecarl's ability to take care of herself, let alone a two hundred pound semi-domesticated predator. Hearing Pavot's howl warmed my heart. I would have to stop by and bring him a rabbit after class.

While my heart was warmed, my body was shivering with the cold. I started stretch to loosen my muscles—which were very stiff after not getting to exercise for the last several weeks, due to my injuries—then jogged around the circumference of the plaza to get my blood pumping. By the time I was ready to begin my workout, I was much warmer. The orange glow of sunrise began to smear across the horizon, bringing with it a warm breeze from the east. Even though it was still cool, I stripped off my shirt to avoid getting it sweaty while I trained; I planned on taking another trip to the baths once I was done here.

With my skin prickling from the cold, I dropped into my fighting stance, facing the pole at the middle of the plaza like a lethal enemy. I held my hands out in a warding posture, then started circling inward toward my mock-opponent. In a fight, you never wanted to run at your enemy head-on; controlling the pacing of a fight was vital, and that meant practicing footwork.

Once I had done a full spiral rotation in to the pole, I switched to an aggressive posture and threw a tentative punch at the wood. It seemed sturdy enough, so I started in full-force. I kept moving around the pillar as I punched, kicked, arm-blocked, and palm-struck, building strength and speed by running through the practice exercises that Nazir and Cicero had taught me. Punching wood was somewhat harder than punching flesh or training dummies, so my knuckles and palms ached after a few minutes. I kept at it, though; one of Nazir's complaints about my hand-to-hand abilities was my weakness in unarmed combat, so building that up while I was away at school was an important goal for me.

By the time I finished my combat exercises, the sun had crested the horizon. I took a few minutes' rest to just stand and watch it. The sun seemed somehow brighter in Solitude, the ocean bluer. Dolphins breached the surface of the sea as the sun rose, their sleek bodies catching the light and breaking it into thousands of radiant shards. It was beautiful.

I finally shook myself out of my reverie, which had lasted somewhat longer than I intended, so that I could finish my morning training. After combat practice came general calisthenics and acrobatics. While I didn't have a full gymnastics course here, I could use the environment for the same benefit. I jogged around the plaza again, this time at double speed and across the tops of benches and planters instead of on the ground. I flipped, tumbled, rolled, and wall-ran to build my general mobility. I did sit-ups, push-ups, and chin-ups, using the branch of a tree as my lifting bar.

By the time I got to the last exercise of my regimen, I was sweat-soaked and shaking with the exertion. My back was killing me and my gut roiled. After this, it would be time for a quick bath and some breakfast. Thinking about food made me think of Nazir again; breakfast just wouldn't be the same without his excellent cooking, or his commentary on my training program.

To banish the looming wave of homesickness I could feel bubbling up, I rolled over onto the palms of my hands and stood up on them. Hand-standing took a lot of concentration; you had to be perfectly balanced and perfectly centered. It was an exercise of the mind as well as the body. Once I was in a perfect handstand, I started flexing my elbows, slowly lowering myself until the top of my head touched the stones of the plaza. Then I pushed myself back up into the full handstand again.

Down. Up. Down. Up. Perfectly balanced. Perfectly centered.

"Holy shit," I heard someone say behind me, which made me lose my concentration enough that I went sprawling onto the hard stones with all the grace and dignity of a poleaxed cow. As I laid there on the stones, trying to catch my breath, the familiar face of Ataf loomed into my field of view. "Sweet Divines! Are you okay, Aventus?"

"Fine," I grunted out, feeling weak from the effort and dizzy from a rough fall. I sat up, and something in my back twinged. I might have overdone it a little. "I'll be fine," I said with more confidence. Ataf offered me his hand, and I took it without thinking, letting him help me up into a standing position.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said sheepishly, running a hand across the back of his head, curling his fingers though his dark-brown hair in nervousness.

"No worries," I said, walking over to where I had hung my shirt up on a tree branch. "I should be the one who feels embarrassed." He looked at me quizzically, so I explained, "For letting you sneak up on me like that."

"Do you have people sneaking up on you often?" he asked.

"Not really," I lied. "I just normally notice that sort of thing."

"I didn't even hear you leave the room this morning," Ataf noted. "I'm a pretty light sleeper, so I usually notice that sort of thing." He raised an eyebrow to emphasize using my own words against me and I laughed at the show. I stopped laughing and winced when I lifted my arms to get my shirt back on. I had definitely overdone it.

"Kyne's grace," Ataf cursed as he walked up to me. "You say you fell off a horse?"

"Yeah," I lied again. Actually, I had nearly been gutted by an angry werewolf, sprained my back crushing his skull with a construction block, almost been beaten to death by Stormcloaks, and then rode a horse non-stop for two days to find medical attention, at the end of which my wounds had festered and I lapsed into a coma. But "fell off a horse" sounded a little less unlikely.

"What about this?" he asked, pointing at a scar along my stomach, not quite touching it. "Or this?" he said, pointing to another one. "Or any of these?" he concluded, gesturing broadly at my torso and flank. I was covered in fading bruises from my recent injuries, but I was also covered in a multitude of small—and not-so-small—scars.

At fourteen, I had more marks on my body than some twenty-year veterans of the legion. Some of them, I had received in training; my trainers had made a point of cutting me occasionally when my guard dropped, just to keep me from getting lazy. Others, I had taken in battle. While an assassin preferred to not have to go toe-to-toe with his targets whenever possible, sometimes it wasn't possible to avoid. Also, I had to admit that I wasn't as good of a planner as some of my siblings, occasionally leading to unfortunate encounters that probably could have been avoided with a little forethought.

I considered the scar Ataf had pointed at last. It had been given to me by a very angry man who had shown me that a broken bottle could be just as good as a knife in a pinch.

"I have a lot of accidents," I finally said. Ataf looked at me with an expression I had come to know very well, thanks to my friend Babette. It was what I thought of as the "do you think I'm a complete idiot?" look.

"Aventus," he said patiently, "I don't like to pry-"

"Then don't," I said abruptly, perhaps a little more rudely than I had meant to. The hurt look on Ataf's face made me instantly regret my tone. "I'm sorry," I quickly said, more softly. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, it's okay," he assured me. "I'm nosy. People are always telling me that I shouldn't push so much." He reached out a hand toward me. "Still friends?"

I thought about it a moment, then finally took his hand. I hadn't meant to make any friends here, but I found that I couldn't help liking Ataf. He was friendly, but he also seemed to have a genuinely gentle spirit. Our long conversation about music the previous night had shown me a passion for performance that I found appealing, and his obvious concern for me touched my heart. I smiled as I shook his hand.

"Still friends," I said. His smile caught the sunlight, and the day seemed warmer already.

* * *

Classes at Bards College didn't start until the tenth bell, and they let out at noon for lunch before resuming two hours later. All told, students only spent about five hours each day in classes. It was a very different sort of schedule for me.

By which I mean, I wasn't used to having a schedule at all.

Other than my first few weeks in the Dark Brotherhood, when my excellent teachers were working overtime to turn an underfed orphan into a killer, I had pretty much kept my own hours over the last several years. When you took a contract, you were expected to deal with it promptly, but you could use whatever methods and means you liked. There were rarely any deadlines to meet, and the entire idea of any meetings more regular than dinner with whoever happened to be in Sanctuary was a little ridiculous. Assassins were expected to be self-motivated.

The Bards College was very different. After finishing my morning exercises and taking a quick rinse in the bath, I had joined Ataf for breakfast in the school dining hall. The setup was a little surprising to me. Rather than have a standard time when food was served, the dining hall had full-time cooks who made hot meals for anyone who stopped in at any time of the day. Nazir had always been very clear with us: Show up when food is hot or eat it cold. There was also a small buffet of cold meats, bread, cheese, and fruit for anyone who didn't feel like they had the time to wait for that, as well as a crock of soup with a naphtha burner under it to keep it warm.

The whole thing just seemed very impersonal to me. I suppose that living in close quarters with a family—even an adopted one—had made me more social than I once was. A small posted sign listed what was available for the day near the counter. I barely recognized any of the food listed, so I just asked for the same thing Ataf got. I was so out of my element that I felt like I was wearing a big sign draped around my neck that declared how inappropriate it was for me to be here.

I let Ataf take the lead on deciding where to sit as well. At this time of the morning, only a few students were in the hall, and I didn't know any of them. To my surprise, Ataf led me to a table that already had people sitting at it.

"Good morning, everyone," Ataf said merrily as he sat down. I sat down next to him, and he gestured at me. "This is my roommate, Aventus Aretino."

"You have a roommate?" asked an older Nord boy with grey-white hair. I couldn't tell if it was natural or if he had dyed it that color, but it matched his ice-blue eyes and snow-pale complexion. "Since when?"

"Since yesterday," Ataf replied. "I was surprised too."

"It'll be good for you," said the Imperial girl sitting across from us. She had dark brown hair cut short, just below her ears in a forward-sweeping style. I wasn't familiar with the name of the style but it suited her; it made her severe face a little softer, adding curves to an appearance that was otherwise mostly sharp angles. She wasn't pretty in the usual sense, but she was definitely striking. "You would have gone stir-crazy living in a double room all by yourself."

"Anytime you weren't bothering us in our room anyway," teased the tawny-haired Nord girl sitting next to the Imperial. "At least now you'll have company."

"Aventus," Ataf said, pointedly ignoring the commentary from the other students, "allow me to introduce Jorn, Aia, and Illdi." Each of them nodded in turn as he said their names.

"Aia Arria," said the Imperial girl, reaching across the table to take my hand. I half-stood and clasped wrists with her briefly before sitting back down. "It's good to see another Imperial in the college. Are you local?"

"No," I replied. "I'm from Windhelm."

"Windhelm?" asked Jorn in surprise. "Have you ever seen Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"It's a big city," I told him. "I saw him once at a public speech with my mom, but he was a long way off. We could hear him all the way in the back, though—just like he was standing next to us."

"That's the power of the thu'um," Illdi interjected. I was quite familiar with the ability some men called Shouting, but rather than say that, I just nodded.

"Aventus assures me that there's nothing interesting about him at all," Ataf said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at the others. I sighed, hoping that they wouldn't take his bait. "I mean, he's only an Imperial from the Stormcloak capital, whose mother has regular business in Solitude, and who happens to be the youngest bard in the college. Nothing special about any of that."

"I thought you were the youngest bard at the college?" Illdi asked.

"Not anymore," the young Redguard replied. "Aventus tells me that he's only fourteen."

"Seriously?" Aia asked, looking me up and down like a side of meat. "Are you sure you're an Imperial?"

"Yes!" I snapped, feeling my face heat up in a blush. "I wish people would quit asking me that!"

"Sorry about that," Jorn said with a disarming smile. "For people training in how to be diplomatic, we sometimes wind up tasting more shoe leather than we'd like."

"It's okay," I said, trying to calm down a little. "I just hear that a lot." I looked around at the faces of Ataf and his friends, trying to find a way to push myself out of the center of speculation. "So how did all of you meet?" I finally asked.

"Well," Aia started, "Ataf was kind enough to help me with my things while I was trying to move in. I had a few personal effects-"

"By which she means three cargo chests full of clothes," Ataf interrupted, pantomiming at rubbing his lower back. Everyone laughed, though Aia picked up a pea from her breakfast and threw it at him.

"Anyway," she continued, "Ataf helped me move in, which is when I met Illdi here." The Nord girl nodded and smiled. "The two of them were in my room, comparing class schedules. I had thought that I would get a private room, considering that my father is a person of some importance, but living with Illdi hasn't proven too terrible."

"Aia is a very talented person," Illdi said, looking at the older girl with stars in her eyes. "I'm lucky to have her living with me." The two girls exchanged a look of affection that passed so quickly that I thought perhaps I had imagined it. "I need all the help I can get."

"You say that your father is someone important?" I asked Aia.

"Achaius Arria," she said, as if I should know who that was. At my blank look she continued, "He's a senior liaison to the Imperial military forces in Solitude."

"He's an advisor to General Tullius," Jorn clarified. I nodded my thanks to him.

"He's here on a three-year rotation from Cyrodiil," Aia continued. "I'm at the Bards College to stay in practice until we go home."

"Aia's got a bright future ahead of her at the Imperial Academy for the Performing Arts," Ataf said enthusiastically. "Though I think that Illdi's better than she gives herself credit for." He looked over at the Nord girl with a goofy smile; I feared that my roommate was just setting himself up for disappointment, but it wasn't my place to get involved.

"What about you, Jorn?" I asked the snow-pale Nord boy, keeping the topic moving steadily away from me.

"I'm from around here," he replied, picking at his food. "My family lives in Solitude and knows Ataf's family. We'd met a couple of times before we both got sent here."

"So you're from around here too?" I asked Ataf.

"Not quite," he said. "My family is from Hammerfell, though they've been living in High Rock since before I was born. My father owns a mercantile company with an Imperial contract, so he brought me and my brother along with him to Solitude on buying trips a lot when I was younger." He nodded to the Nord boy. "Jorn's family owns the shipping company that we used to work with locally."

"Used to?" I asked, confused. "What happened?"

"The Blackblood Marauders happened," Jorn said with a grimace. "They sank half of our ships, stole our cargo, and killed decent men working for my father." He shook his head angrily. "Those pirate bastards cost us a fortune—and our contract with the Empire, once we didn't have enough ships to keep up with demand."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said sympathetically. "The shipping companies out in Windhelm were having problems with pirates the last time I was there too."

"Is it true that the Stormcloaks keep Argonians as slaves?" Illdi asked, leaning forward. "I heard that Ulfric Stormcloak hates the beast-kin so much that he has his soldiers shoot any Khajiit they see, but they round up Argonians to make them work on the docks as slaves."

"That's not so," I told her. "The Argonians don't get paid very much, but they're not slaves. And Khajiit aren't killed on sight; they're just not allowed into the city." I paused, thinking about it for a moment. "But that's just damning Ulfric with faint praise. The way he lets people treat the Dunmer refugees in Windhelm is criminal."

I was thinking about a particular incident where two men had harassed a dark elf woman to the point of tears in the middle of a crowded city plaza. No one had helped her. At least I had gotten the satisfaction of killing one of those men later. I sometimes wondered where Angrenor Once-Honored was these days; I had seen his cruelty, but he had also been quite kind to me.

"We hear all sorts of things in Markarth," Illdi said, breaking me out of my reverie. "Ulfric has a history there, so it's hard to tell what's true and what's just rumor."

"I hear the Dragonborn is siding with the Stormcloaks," Ataf said dourly, his usual good humor gone. "Pretty soon, we'll all have to bow to Eastmarch or get out of Skyrim."

"The Dragonborn would never side with Ulfric Stormcloak!" I nearly shouted, far more passionately than I had intended. The others looked at me curiously; I composed myself quickly and continued. "I mean, everyone knows that Ulfric's lieutenant is a fake now. The real Dragonborn has started making appearances at court here in Solitude again."

"I heard that from my father," Aia confirmed. She paused, tilting her head to look at me anew. "Though I'm curious how you know about it. Are your parents with the court?"

"Yeah," added Jorn, "we've told you our stories. What about you? Who are you, Aventus Aretino?"

"And don't give us that 'I'm not interesting' stuff either," insisted Ataf.

I sputtered and choked, taking a drink to cover my stalling. My efforts to move the conversation away from me had clearly failed. Now I had to come up with something to tell them that wouldn't see a repeat of this in the future.

"Guys," Illdi chastised while I was recovering, "don't pressure him. We just met Aventus; we don't want to run him off, do we?" She smiled at me graciously, and I gave her a relieved nod in return. "We're all going to be in class together, so we should try to get along. Aventus will tell us about himself when he's ready."

"Very well," Aia said dismissively, like a jarl holding court.

"We're going to be in class together?" I asked.

"Classes are arranged by ages," Jorn explained. "Some of the people who come to study at the Bards College are adults looking for a new path in life. Others are the sons and daughters of bards looking to follow in their parents' footsteps. We have people here as old as thirty and as young as… Well, as young as you, Aventus."

"The teachers break up people into age ranges," Illdi continued. "After that, they divide each group into classes of four to eight."

"There are twelve classes to handle around sixty students," Jorn picked back up. "The Bards College is big on class unity, so people from the same class are assigned to live near each other in the dormitories."

"We're all on the same floor," Ataf finished. "Jorn has a single room right next to ours, and Aia and Illdi share a room across the hall."

"I was supposed to have a roommate," Jorn added, "but apparently he withdrew at the last minute."

"Is it normal for boys and girls to be on the same floor?" I asked. I had gotten used to mixed-sex accommodations as a member of the Dark Brotherhood, but I had been under the impression that most people weren't comfortable with that sort of thing.

"At the Bards College it is," Ataf laughed. "I was a little shocked too, but we're working out bathing schedules and stuff like that. It's one of the reasons I was talking to Illdi the day Aia showed up."

"And he's got a crush on her," Jorn whispered to me, leaning close so that the others couldn't hear.

"I don't understand the fuss myself," Aia said loftily. "Back in Cyrodiil, mixed-gender bathing is the norm. I've been taking baths with my brothers and cousins since I was little."

"But have you ever bathed with strangers?" Jorn asked pointedly.

"Of course not," she scoffed. "My family has always had private baths."

"But it doesn't bother you?" Ataf asked. "The idea of being naked in front of strangers?"

"The bath is a private place," Aia insisted, "even when it's public. You simply aren't supposed to notice nudity. It's impolite." She frowned and looked at Jorn. "How do Nords bathe then?"

"A lot of them don't," he laughed. "Those of us who don't like smelling of horker fat and rancid meat usually wind up stripping to a loincloth and bathing in a river."

"That makes me feel cold just thinking about it," Ataf shuddered.

"Well, we're all going to have to get used to it," Illdi said, Nord practicality shining through like a beacon. "We've got the floor to ourselves, so it's just the five of us sharing a bath. We can work out schedules if you like, but that seems like a big waste of time to me."

"Wait," I asked, "there are only five of us on the whole floor?"

"There were going to be six originally," Jorn said, "but that's basically right. The number of students at the college is at an all-time low, thanks to the war. Since classes are arranged by age, and they put classes together in the dormitories, we're the youngest class in the school. Illdi, Aia, and I are all sixteen, and Ataf is fifteen."

"The next youngest student in the college right now is eighteen," Aia continued. "It just happened to fall that we're alone on the 'juniors' floor."

"Then why don't they just each give us a private room?" I asked.

"I guess they want us to have more social interaction?" Ataf asked, obviously not really sure himself. "All I know is that the housing matron tries to pair everyone up if possible." Ataf saw my look and continued before I could ask the question forming on my lips. "You haven't met her since you just got in yesterday. She's a little dotty, but nice. An old Nord lady, name of Braste. You'll probably see her after classes are over today, when she comes through to see if we need anything."

"Personally, I can't wait to meet Headmaster Viarmo," Aia gushed. "I hear he's one of the finest musicians and poets in all of Tamriel."

"You've been here for weeks, and you haven't met the headmaster yet?" I asked.

"He's a very busy mer," Aia insisted. "He's supposed to give us our orientation speech at the start of our class, then we'll meet the rest of our professors. I've already met a couple of them. So talented!"

"I wonder what Viarmo is like," Jorn mused. "I hear that he's way nicer than most Altmer."

"Altmer aren't that bad," Aia rebutted. "They're everywhere back in Cyrodiil, ever since the war ended. They can have a bit of an attitude, but I imagine that it's hard to not feel a little superior when you're nearly immortal and can use magic intuitively that it takes men a lifetime to master."

"I guess," I allowed reluctantly.

"Excuse me," said a young woman as she walked up to the table. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Headmaster Viarmo would like to meet with you before classes begin."

"I'm honored," Aia said as she started to stand.

"Not you, Mistress," the woman said. "I'm to fetch Master Aretino."

The others looked at me, eyes wide and curious. Aia sat down, her face turning red and her lips twisting into a pout. I felt my own cheeks begin to burn.

"There must be some mistake," I stammered, searching for something to say. "Have I done something wrong?" I finally sputtered out. Better for them to think I was in some sort of trouble than that I was getting special treatment.

"I couldn't say, Master Aretino," she replied. "He only said that he wanted to speak to you."

"Sorry, guys," I said as I stood up. "I'll see you in class."

"Sure, Aventus," Ataf said amiably.

"And he says he's no one special," I could hear Aia muttering as I walked away. "My father is a diplomatic consul, and…" By then, I was outside the dining hall and couldn't hear anything more.

All I could think was that the headmaster had better have a good reason for this. I wasn't supposed to be getting any special treatment, and he was already dragging me away from breakfast for a private interview. I sincerely hoped that this wasn't going to set a trend for the next two years.

* * *

"Ah!" exclaimed Viarmo as I entered his spacious office. "A pleasure to meet with you at last, my dear boy. Please, come in!"

I walked into the headmaster's office, gazing around in wonder at the plethora of musical instruments, books, scrolls, maps and other trinkets that decorated the shelves and walls of the room. His desk was a huge oak fixture, covered in sheet music, spare parchment, and ink jars. An old mug sat on one corner of the desk, filled with various kinds of quills; a ramekin full of nibs sat next to it.

Viarmo shook my head briefly and then gesture for me to sit down in a plush, overstuffed chair in front of his desk. He didn't move to the stiff-looking seat on the other side, instead simply brushing a corner of the desk clear and leaning against it. Viarmo was a golden-skinned Altmer, easily seven feet tall, though like all of his kind he seemed stretched somehow, thin and lanky. He wore rich blue robes that accented his coppery hair and neatly-trimmed goatee.

"Are you settling in all right?" he asked. I nodded, which brought a smile to his face. "Good, good. I was hoping to get a chance to meet with you yesterday, but my meeting with your mother took somewhat longer than either of us had thought it would. As well, I have responsibilities with Elisif's court."

"You're a very busy mer," I said. "I don't want any special treatment."

"Your mother said something very similar the first time I met her," he laughed. "You're a chip off the old block, as humans sometimes say."

"She's not my real mother," I pointed out.

"Nonetheless," he insisted, "I can see her influence on you. Our families aren't the people we're born to—or not just them, at any rate. It's all of the people who love us and want the best for us. We're influenced by those people, and we influence them in turn." He thought for a moment, stroking his goatee. "To some degree, being a bard is learning how to influence people and make friends without that sort of bond."

"Was there something you wanted to see me about, sir?" I asked, fearing that Viarmo might go on at length if I didn't bring him back to the point.

"Excuse me," he apologized. "I tend to ramble. It's a side effect of a lifetime of public performance." He rifled through the papers on his desk for a moment before pulling out a folder, looking in it, and tossing it back on the desk. "Mostly, I wanted to see what sort of person the Dragonborn's son was before we get too deep into the teacher-student relationship. Your mother is a friend of mine, but she's also one of the most historically important people I've ever had the privilege of meeting."

"Have you met Ulfric Stormcloak?" I asked, curious because of Jorn's question to me earlier.

"Once," he admitted. "He's a powerful personality, but nowhere near as important as Diana."

"Isn't he single-handedly responsible for the civil war?"

"That's debatable," Viarmo said with a slight smile. "I can already tell that Giraud is going to love you or hate you." He spoke up before I could say anything, "Giraud Gemane is our Dean of Histories. He'll be teaching your class on the Empire's musical history this semester." I nodded, and he continued. "Even if you accept that Ulfric is the sole cause of the war… Well, wars come and go, Aventus. A century from now, Ulfric Stormcloak will be a footnote in the annals of history—if he's lucky. But Diana Dragonborn? The savior of Nirn? People will be singing her praises for the rest of the Era."

"How do I stack up then?" I asked, somewhat sullenly. I didn't like being compared to other people; being compared to the Dragonborn was hardly even fair.

"Master Aretino," he said formally, standing up again, "I can already tell that you're going to be someone great. I don't know if your destiny is as a bard or not—and quite frankly, I was more surprised to hear that Diana wanted you enrolled here than that she had a son no one knew about—but I feel that you're going to be a person of some note." He paused, then chuckled. "If you'll forgive the pun."

"I'm no one special," I insisted, not really understanding the pun he was talking about. It had gotten to be such a rote thing to say that it slipped out of my mouth without even really thinking about it.

"Your mother said something very similar to me the first time we met," he repeated before standing up and leading me to the door. "She was wrong too."

* * *

My mind finally drifted back to the orientation. I had half-heard Viarmo introducing the school's various teachers, but there were only three of them that mattered to me.

Giraud Gemane, the Breton who Viarmo had mentioned, would be teaching my class over Imperial musical history. Inge Six-Fingers was an older Nord woman; I couldn't tell if she lived up to her surname from this distance, but she would be teaching our class on the fundamentals of stringed instruments, as well as co-teaching another class with Giraud, this one over the history of music in Skyrim. Our final class would be over the fundamentals of wind instruments and vocal music, taught by a middle-aged Imperial woman named Pantea Ateia.

All told, my four classmates and I would be spending every Morndas through Fredas in class, generally from about tenth bell to noon, then from second bell to dinner. Viarmo explained that we were expected to practice on our own outside of classes as well, and many of the teachers would be leading morning and evening practice sessions for those of us who felt the need for extra attention. We would have Loredas and Sundas to ourselves; while we were not forbidden from leaving the college grounds, it was strongly discouraged from doing so except on the weekends.

I was introduced to the concept of homework. It seemed like a trick of some kind. We were supposed to attend classes, but then we had things to do outside of class that were necessary to get a good grade? Why not just have that be part of class time?

And then the entire concept of grades seemed odd. As an assassin, it was pretty obvious when you succeeded or failed at a task, considering that failed assassins were usually dead assassins. Having our teachers judge whether our work met with their approval or not almost seemed like a conflict of interest. If they were teaching us, didn't it reflect badly on them if we didn't learn well enough to get a good grade? So wouldn't they be inclined to give us better grades to make themselves look better?

The whole thing was just strange to me, but I guessed that normal people dealt with this sort of thing all the time. Life as a contract killer was so much simpler.

"And with that," Viarmo concluded holding his hands wide as if to embrace the whole student body, "I welcome you to the Bards College of Solitude."

The students around me began to applaud so I joined in, even though I had missed most of Viarmo's speech. I wasn't sure, but I could swear that the Altmer headmaster actually winked at me as he walked by, as though sharing some private joke. I was a little startled when Ataf's hand fell on my shoulder, but I managed to avoid either flinching or breaking his fingers, both of which were natural reactions for me at being touched unexpectedly.

"Come on," he said, "you don't want to be late for our first class."

"Sure thing," I agreed, picking up the leather satchel that held my books and parchment from under my seat.

"So what did Viarmo want from you earlier?" he asked as we walked together.

"Nothing particularly," I said. "There was some sort of mix-up with my paperwork."

"And the headmaster just happened to want to deal with it personally?" Ataf said doubtfully. "Aventus, you're going to have to get better at this whole lying thing if you're going to keep it up for two years."

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, not even sure what I was apologizing for. "Look, I just don't want any special treatment. From anyone."

"Unlike Aia," my friend laughed, "who seems to want it from everyone." He clapped me on the shoulder and kept walking. "You seem like a decent sort, so I'll let it slide. But eventually, you're going to wind up telling me the truth."

Divines, I hoped not.

It occurred to me that I had spent much of my life mastering the art of being invisible—to the point that I was no longer comfortable doing even the basic things that normal people took for granted. I had been taught to not pry into others' lives, but normal people talked about themselves and each other almost constantly. I had lived in the shadows so long that I had become like the Falmer, a blind thing afraid of the light.

Perhaps that was what Hecate had wanted me to learn by coming to Solitude: how to survive in the light as well as the dark. If so, I intended to live up to her expectations for me. My natural inclination might be to shy away from the public eye, and I had secrets that had to be kept at all costs, but I could still find ways to excel and to win people over. As I walked into the first classroom I had ever been inside, I steeled myself for whatever came next.

It was time.

* * *

…_to be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3: School Grounds

**Chapter 3: School Grounds**

I adapted to the rhythm—so to speak—of life at the Bards College pretty quickly. Get up, exercise, bathe, grab breakfast with my classmates, go to class, take lunch, go to more classes, have dinner, evening practice, free time, and sleep. It was the most stable that my life had ever been. I had a regular schedule, saw the same faces every day, and never left the ground of the college.

Honestly, it was driving me a little crazy.

After nearly three years of life as a member of the Dark Brotherhood, a regimented schedule was as foreign to me as the life of an assassin would be to any of my classmates. I was used to staying up as late as I liked, staggering out of bed when I pleased, eating dinner with my family if they were in, and going wherever I wanted to go—and, of course, killing people for money.

At the Bards College, everything was taken care of for me. There were servants who made my bed while I was out of my room. Food was ready at all hours of the day if I cared to eat. The bath was always warm whenever I wanted one. There were lots of free rooms for individual practice and performance. But those were all creature comforts, illusions designed to hide my essential status as a prisoner.

After the stress of my first couple of weeks of classes and dodging Ataf's occasional attempts at uncovering my life story, I had desperately wanted to go into Solitude for a drink. I wasn't all that fond of the taste of mead, but I had discovered that you didn't care so much about the flavor after drinking a few mugs of it. Once dinner was finished and the last dregs of twilight had begun to bleed away into darkness, I had pulled on my heavy woolen cloak and made a beeline for the main gates.

Torches and lanterns filled the courtyards of the Bards College with soft light after sunset, so it was easy to navigate. Not that I couldn't have done it in the dark, but it's always preferable to have light when you can. In the flickering glow of the lights, something looked different about the main gate. It wasn't until I got close to it that I realized what it was. The gates were closed. A quick pull at the bars revealed that they were also locked tight. I had known that we weren't expected to go out into Solitude on weeknights, but during his orientation speech, Viarmo had phrased it as a "strong suggestion."

Looking at the lock with a wary eye, I could now see that "strong suggestion" was a euphemism for "locking us in."

Naturally, I could have picked the lock or scaled the wall. Given a choice between the two, I would have preferred to scale the wall; while I could pick simple locks pretty quickly, I just didn't have the fine manual dexterity to handle anything more complicated. I could also have just broken the lock off with a few well-placed swings of my collapsible mace, but I'm pretty sure someone would have noticed that.

Just as I was getting ready to scale the walls, I caught sight of a moving torch in the corner of my vision. I quickly ducked into the shadows and froze. As the torch-bearer came into view, I could see that it was Inge Six-Fingers, one of my instructors. She seemed vaguely bored as she patrolled the grounds, looking back and forth with less than total interest. She passed right by my hiding spot without seeing me at all, then continued on.

After she was gone, I could have scaled the wall and gone into town without being seen, but my time in the Brotherhood had made me too cautious for that. Knowing that they had grounds patrols made me wary. What else might they do to keep track of students? I knew that the staff could get into our rooms; the mysterious cleaning that happening while I was in class attested to that. Would they check on us at night? I thought that I slept lightly enough that I would notice that sort of thing, but there was always the chance that they had some other way of spying on us.

All of my assassin's training told me that I had to do real surveillance if I wanted to escape notice. Right now, the enemy had all of the advantages—home turf, numbers, civilian hostages…

That was when I realized that I was thinking about my teachers as "the enemy," and maybe I should just go back to my room and get some rest.

* * *

"This is just disgraceful," Ataf complained over breakfast the next morning. "How can they expect us to develop people skills if they just lock us in at night?"

At first, I was surprised to hear my roommate admitting that he had tried to sneak out in the night, but then I realized that he hadn't considered it "sneaking out" at all. He had just considered it normal to be able to go out on a weeknight, even when the teachers apparently didn't want us to. I still didn't want to admit my own interest in going out, so I just made a noncommittal questioning noise.

"You know you're not supposed to be spending nights on the town, right?" chided Jorn. "You should be focusing on your studies, not carousing."

"I wasn't going to 'carouse,'" Ataf groused. "One of my cousins is in town, and I just wanted to say hello." Ataf smiled crookedly. "Of course, if he had wanted to ply me with fine Imperial wine until the wee hours of the night, I certainly wouldn't have refused."

"Would this be your cousin who's in the wine shipping business?" Illdi teased.

"I can't believe that you would sneak off to get drunk during the first week of school," Aia sniffed imperiously. I took another mouthful of eggs to cover my own chagrin as she continued. "It's just disgraceful." I slunk down in my seat, doing my level best to disappear into the floor.

"I take it that locking the gates after dark isn't normal?" I asked, trying to cover my own embarrassment.

"Well, I don't know how it is in Windhelm," Aia commented loftily, "but Solitude is the safest city in the province. The presence of the Imperial army makes most people think twice about causing trouble, and that's before you take into account the Haafingar guards. They're the best-trained, best-equipped hold guards in Skyrim. That's on top of the city walls, which keep out anyone who isn't supposed to be here."

"I heard there was a serial killer loose in Windhelm," Jorn said with something like real nervousness.

"That's over now," I said before I could catch myself. The others looked at me curiously, hoping for the first real piece of gossip from my lips since we had met. I sighed at my own stupidity and continued. "I mean, I haven't been home in a few years, but I try to keep up with the news. They say that the Butcher finally bit off more than he could chew and one of his victims turned the tables on him. Turned out he was some shopkeeper who was into necromancy."

The others oohed and aahed over the juicy gossip while Ataf eyed me warily with a slight smile. When we left the dining hall, he fell behind with me while the others walked ahead to class.

"You haven't been home in years, but you're up to date on gossip that's only a month old," he mused.

"Don't start again, Ataf," I warned. "I haven't been home in three years because of the civil war. It doesn't mean that I'm deaf."

"But it does mean that you have some way of getting regular, reliable information from the rebel capital," he continued. "The Butcher's body was found near the end of Last Seed. I only know about it because my family still does business with the Shatter-Shields—and I only found out a couple of days ago. You sound like you've known for weeks."

I wheeled around and fixed him with an angry glare. I didn't like people prying into my life, maybe as a legacy of Nazir's repeatedly saying that siblings didn't pry into each other's lives from before the Brotherhood. Since I had joined the Dark Brotherhood at eleven, I didn't have much life before it—but at the same time, I couldn't talk about my life in the Brotherhood with civilians, which Ataf definitely qualified as.

"Sorry, Aventus," Ataf said sheepishly, taking my warning glare for what it was. I sighed as he turned away, a hurt look on his face. Ataf was one of those people that it was tough to stay angry at, and who you felt bad if you had to be angry at them for any length of time.

"I just…" I started. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Because of your scars?" he asked. "Like the old, twisted ones on your back."

I felt my blood chill. I had never talked to anyone about what had happened to me at Honorhall Orphanage—not even to my siblings in the Dark Brotherhood. It had been half a year in the deepest pits of hell. The scars on my stomach and arms were thin, pale things, remnants of training with knife-work or battles of various sorts. The ones on my back were from Honorhall, though. They were pale and distorted from my growth spurt, but they were the ones that had seen the least medical attention so they were the most obvious.

The mistress of the orphanage, Grelod the Kind, had been anything but her nickname. She had beaten the children under her care, chained us up in small rooms for days on end without food or water, half-starved us even on good days, and deprived us of even the most basic forms of human kindness. One of her favorite pastimes had been to whip us with thorn-covered branches while we did our chores. She said it was fine motivation to do the chores swiftly.

Even thinking about that old crone made me glad she was dead. My only regret was that I hadn't been the one to kill her. Something of my ferocity must have leaked through because Ataf laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed briefly.

"All I'm saying," he said kindly, "is that if you need someone to talk to, I can be a good listener too."

I nodded, not really understanding what he was getting at, but somehow grateful anyway.

The rest of the morning dragged, and I occasionally caught Ataf or Illdi sneaking glances at me during Professor Gemane's lecture on the origins of the modern musical notation system. Gemane was a compelling speaker and the material was fascinating, but I just couldn't seem to focus. Ataf's unusual offer kept coming back to me, and for the first time in a year or more, I kept thinking about Honorhall.

I had wondered occasionally over the years what had become of my friends from the orphanage. Runa, Samuel, Hroar… They had taken me into their confidence when I was nearly beaten to death by Grelod the Kind. They had been stealing food from her private pantry as well as stealing from the marketplace to supplement their diet, and they had shared their secret with me. I had resolved to escape Honorhall to save them as much as I had to save myself. When the Brotherhood adopted me, I had tried to convince Hecate to bring the other children in as well, but she had refused. Ever since, I had hoped that they had found their way to good families, but I had no way of knowing for sure.

Thinking about my orphan friends brought with it a sting of melancholy, but I was sure that they were fine now that Grelod was dead. Thinking about Honorhall itself, though… All day, ever since Ataf had brought it up, I had been brooding over the suffering I had seen and experienced in Riften. My months on the road after fleeing the orphanage had taught me about self-sufficiency; my time in the Brotherhood had taught me the power of family; but my time at Honorhall had taught me about the darkest pits of human suffering.

To say that it haunted me occasionally would be an understatement.

When we were finally dismissed for lunch, I rushed to get cold cuts and eat quickly so that I wouldn't be tempted to start talking to Ataf. There was something compelling about the young Redguard's offer that I couldn't seem to shake. The idea of being open with another human being—talking about my past, about my feelings—was somehow enthralling. It was so outside my frame of reference that it was like hearing about Cyrodiil or High Rock, or all those other exotic places that people visited but I had never seen. Except that this was a place that most people lived in, and I was the outsider.

I had barely finished my food when one of the school's docents—which I gathered was something like a teacher's assistant—came up to me to inform me that I had a guest waiting for me at the school entrance.

"Who is it?" I asked. I didn't really know anyone in Solitude, and it was far too soon for Hecate to be checking up on me again.

"I don't know, sir," the docent said. She pulled out a folded, sealed envelope and handed it to me. "She only said to give you this."

I turned away from the docent and opened the letter. All of my worries and fears fell away as I saw what was written within. Other people might have been afraid at the sign of the Black Hand, but for me it was a sign of family. Written beneath the black handprint were two simple words: "We're here."

I stuffed the letter in my pocket and raced toward the school entrance as fast as my feet could carry me.

* * *

By the time I got to the front gates, I could hear laughter coming from up ahead. I was surprised to see Pantea Ateia, my voice teacher, sitting on a stone bench with a handsome middle-aged Breton. The two of them were chatting amiably, with my professor tittering like a schoolgirl whenever her gentleman suitor said something particularly witty.

I scanned around, looking for whoever might have dropped the letter off, and nearly choked on my own spit when I realized that Pantea's "gentleman suitor" was actually Elbent, one of my brothers-in-arms. I hadn't recognized him right away because I wasn't used to seeing him clean-shaven and dressed in anything other than ratty peasant clothes. The Elbent sitting across from my teacher—and were they holding hands?—was dressed like a Breton noble, with his hair pulled back in a neat queue and his sideburns neatly groomed.

"Ah, there he is!" Elbent exclaimed in a smooth, cultured voice totally unlike his regular one, save for the slight grit at the back of his throat. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue this at a later time, my dear."

"Of course," Pantea said as she stood, her cheeks rosy and flushed. She touched my shoulder briefly as she walked back toward the school. "Your uncle is a charmer, dear," she giggled as she left.

"My uncle?" I asked as I walked toward Elbent.

"They don't let strangers check up on students," he growled in a voice much more like his normal one. "Someone had to come up here to get you, and I don't think they would have bought it if Garnag had come himself."

"Garnag's here too?" I asked excitedly. "Is there a mission on? Do you guys need my help?" I couldn't keep the hope out of my voice. Two weeks in the Bards College had made me stir-crazy in a way that I had never felt being cooped up in Sanctuary.

"Didn't you get Hecate's letter?" Elbent asked. I shook my head; as far as I knew, Hecate hadn't written me since I had come to school. I didn't mind, though. I knew she was busy. He sighed and continued, "Kid, there's no easy way to say this…"

"Don't call me kid," I said automatically.

"Sorry," Elbent said graciously enough. I was paying attention now; Elbent never apologized. "Look… We're getting sent to High Rock to reopen the Sanctuary at Wayrest."

"What?" I exclaimed dumbly. "You and Garnag?"

"Not just the two of us," he explained. "Anaril, Deesei, Geldii and Eiruki are going too. Six of us should be enough to get the Sanctuary off the ground. Seemed to work well enough for Dawnstar, after all."

"All the new recruits except for Vedave…" I mused.

"And didn't Anaril throw a fit about that," Elbent laughed. "I've heard Altmer be demanding, but I've never seen one on the verge of tears before."

"Eiruki is with you?" I blurted out before I could catch myself.

"Figured you'd ask about her," Elbent said with a smirk. I could feel my cheeks burning as Elbent chuckled. "But yes, we're all in Solitude for a few days, picking up supplies and resting from the road before making out final push into High Rock."

"How are you going to get across the border?" I asked.

"I know some back ways through the mountains around Jehenna," Elbent explained. "The city got annexed by Haafingar a few years back during one of the Imperial redistricting moves, but the civil war broke out not long after. Now, no one knows who should be patrolling what, so the whole area is wide open. There would probably be smugglers using the passes, but Solitude doesn't really need to smuggle supplies in."

"And High Rock is already a preferred trading partner, so it wouldn't be profitable the other way," I finished. Elbent looked at me with surprise. "Hey, I actually bother listening when Garnag talks about this sort of thing." Elbent's approving nod made me feel flushed with pride.

"Hecate was supposed to write you and let you know we would be coming through," Elbent finally continued.

"The letter was probably just delayed," I said, waving it off.

Honestly, I figured it was about even odds whether Hecate ever sent me a letter or not. I loved our Listener, but she could be pretty thoughtless at times—and she was genuinely quite busy. I was already starting to feel a churning sensation in my stomach, worrying that there was more to this sudden decision to reopen Wayrest Sanctuary than Elbent was saying. Still, I was so excited about the possibility of seeing my family again that I was willing to overlook nearly anything.

"Want to grab dinner with us tonight?" Elbent asked. "Garnag said you're probably feeling a little overwhelmed by all of this, and some friendly faces might help."

"I'd love to!" I exclaimed, then felt my face fall. "But it's a weeknight." Elbent looked confused, so I explained. "They've been locking the gates at night. I don't dare scale the walls. Someone might see, and Hecate was really firm about me not making anyone suspicious."

"Hmmm," Elbent mused. "Your pretty teacher there—what was her name?"

"You think Professor Ateia is pretty?" I said with disbelief. The older Nord woman wasn't bad-looking, I supposed, but I didn't think of her as "pretty."

"That's it," he continued, smiling to himself. "Pantea Ateia. Kind of rolls off the tongue…" He noticed me staring at him, then coughed and continued. "She said that the reason the gates were locked when I got here is that the college has had some break-ins lately. She assured me that it was in a part of the school that no students live in and that there was no danger."

"Robberies?" I asked, feeling a little silly for thinking that they had just been trying to lock us in. "Why don't they just get the city guard to patrol more instead of locking the place up like a vault?" Before Elbent could respond, I smacked myself in the forehead and answered my own question. "Because it would be bad for their reputation, of course."

"Of course," Elbent nodded. "It shouldn't matter, though. Pantea says that any student who wants to go out can just ask to be let out. You're not prisoners, after all."

I nodded, turning away from Elbent so that he couldn't see how red my face was turning. In all of my planning to get out of the Bards College, the one thing I had never even considered was just asking a teacher to let me out.

* * *

Professor Ateia was gracious about giving me an evening pass to leave campus to have dinner with my "uncle," seeing as he would only be in Solitude for the night. I explained to Ataf that I probably wouldn't be back until the morning, then quickly ducked out before he could ask me any questions. One of the docents followed me to the front gates with a key, letting me out and locking the gates behind me once I was gone.

And then I was free.

I would have to go back, of course, but I hadn't realized how caged I felt until I was outside the walls of the Bards College. While I had been stuck in Sanctuary for days or weeks on end with no work before, Hecate had always made it clear to me that the Black Door wasn't locked from our side. Short of shirking my few responsibilities, I was free to do as I pleased. A life of structure and rules wasn't something that sat well with me.

It wasn't hard to make my way through the streets of Solitude to the Winking Skeever, the inn that Brotherhood members stayed in whenever they came through this part of Skyrim. It wasn't the biggest or nicest inn in the city, but it asked the least questions and had a rowdy atmosphere that suited most assassins pretty well. It was a good place to get a room for a night or two, have some drinks, eat greasy tavern food, and blow a few septims from a job well done.

As I walked in the front doors in the dying autumn evening, Corpulus Vinius was behind the bar. His son Sorex was running drinks to the tables along with a trio of Nord serving women wearing clothes that were probably too low-cut to be comfortable outdoors at this time of year. One of them winked at me as I entered, so she was the one that I approached.

"Excuse me," I said as I sidled up to her, "but I'm looking for some friends of mine." I palmed a septim onto her serving tray as a sleight-of-hand trick, and she giggled. "A group of six or so. One of them is a big orc with one eye." When I mentioned who I was looking for, she stopped laughing and went pale.

"You've got some dangerous-looking friends," she said nervously. "They're in the back room. Got it rented out for the whole night." I nodded my thanks and headed that way.

The back room of the Winking Skeever was a dim affair normally, but it was lit up like the aurora when I stepped in. Dancing globes of magical light hung in the air, drifting to and fro as their makers reeled and drank. Garnag was sitting at the head of a long table covered in food, plates, and mugs of beer and mead. A pair of musicians were in the far corner of the room, playing a flute and drumming as Deesei and Elbent danced a merry jig. Anaril and Geldii were engaged in some sort of deep conversation while Eiruki sat at the far end of the table, watching the dancing over a mug.

The smile dropped off my face and I staggered a step as I set eyes on Eiruki. Her beautiful face was swollen and bruised, one of her eyes half-shut from what must have been a painful beating. When she lifted her mug to drink from it, I could see ugly black and red marks on her throat; some were fading to yellow already, but it was clear to me that someone had tried to strangle her—and recently.

I could feel my breathing go rough and my hands clenched. Those weren't the marks of a contract gone wrong. Targets didn't normally beat you savagely or choke you when they managed to turn the tables; stab wounds, slashes, and concussions were more likely, when such table-turning wasn't fatal. I knew who had done this. Those same hands had "taught me a lesson" only a few months before. It had been weeks before the bruises faded, even with the help of our resident alchemist and healer.

Right then, if Cicero had been standing in front of me, I would have gladly caved his head in.

"Aventus!" Garnag shouted, knocking me out of my reverie. Even with only one eye, the old orc was more perceptive than most people with two. The assembled assassins turned and shouted cheerfully as I walked up to my old partner and embraced him.

"It's good to see you, Garnag," I managed to force out around the lump in my throat. "I wish I could have had a little forewarning, though."

"It was sudden for us too, lad," he responded. "The Listener decided that the time had come to reopen a second Sanctuary, and well… You know how Hecate can be when she sets her mind on something." His tone made me hold my tongue until the others had finished their greetings.

As usual, Eiruki was the last to approach me. We stood at arm's length for a moment, looking at each other nervously, until finally she stepped forward and we embraced one another. I smiled at her when we finally stepped apart, not quite able to make it reach my eyes.

"I know I'm not as pretty as the last time you saw me," she whispered through bruised lips.

"You'll always be beautiful," I responded. She giggled and hugged me again. I couldn't deny that I had missed Eiruki in the last few weeks, though in a different way than the rest of my family. Once everyone had moved off to give the three of us some room, I looked at Garnag. "Cicero did this," I said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Garnag nodded. "It was Chickpea."

"And Hecate just let him get away with it, right?" I demanded angrily. "She sent all of you away rather than punish that gods damned fool."

"Stop right there," Garnag snarled. I paused, shocked. He had never spoken like that to me before. I sat down in the chair next to him and took the mug that he handed me. "I know you're mad," he said more softly, "but you need to step away from your anger." Eiruki sat down next to me and laid a gentle hand on my arm.

"Why are you defending him?" I asked Garnag. I turned to Eiruki. "And why aren't you mad?"

"I'm not defending his actions," Garnag insisted. "But Chickpea-" He paused and corrected himself. "Cicero is the Keeper. After the Night Mother and Hecate, he's the highest-ranking member of the Dark Brotherhood. He can interpret the Tenets in the absence of the Listener—and he decided that Eiruki had broken them."

"He's crazy, Garnag," I pleaded. "He's not responsible to make those kinds of decisions."

"He's the Keeper," Garnag responded simply. "He's not the same man I used to know in a lot of ways, but his devotion to the Brotherhood has never changed. And you need to remember that before you go flying off the handle about it. Eiruki wasn't seriously hurt, Hecate put some limits on Cicero's ability to punish infractions, and-"

"And she sent you away," I interrupted. I cast my eyes down and took a long pull off my mug. "Just like she sent me away."

"We're doing important work," he insisted. "The Black Hand needs to reach back across all of Tamriel if we're going to regain the respect we once had. Hell, she named me Speaker! I never once thought I'd see the day." He paused to take a long drink before continuing. "I may not like the way it all came to pass, but I'd be a poor assassin indeed if I wasn't able to see a good deal when it slapped me in the face. All of us will benefit from this in the long term, Aventus—even you."

"Maybe," I conceded. "But-"

"Can we not argue?" Eiruki asked. "We don't know when we're all going to be together again. Let's just enjoy the night." Her soft brown eyes held promises that I didn't know if I wanted to accept. I hesitated, and Garnag laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.

"Sounds like the two of you have some catching up of your own to do," he chuckled. "Go on. We have rooms upstairs. The two of you go and… talk… for a while. I'll be here all night." Before I could protest, Eiruki took my arm with a wicked smile and dragged me away from the old orc.

"Seems like we only get to be alone together when one of us is hurt," she breathed into my ear. "You get to be gentle with me this time."

Suddenly, I didn't care so much about anything else.

* * *

When I rejoined Garnag in the back room of the Winking Skeever, it was somewhere between midnight and morning. Only Elbent and Garnag were still awake, sitting together and drinking quietly as they talked. None of the others were anywhere to be seen; Eiruki was still in her room, sleeping comfortably, and I assumed the others had gone back to their own rooms to pass out.

"Finished… catching up?" Garnag asked, bringing a chuckle to Elbent's lips as well.

"Hand me that cup," I growled, ignoring his comment.

"I meant what I said earlier," he continued as he handed me a drink. "It's good to see you."

"You too, old friend," I smiled. Elbent coughed into his mug and I shot him a look.

"What am I?" he slurred drunkenly. "Chopped horker liver?"

"I already said it was good to see you, Elbent," I groused.

"When?" he asked, looking genuinely confused. Before I could open my mouth, he continued, "Oh yeah, when I was talking to your teacher about that fiddle that got stolen."

"Fiddle?" I asked. It was my turn to be confused.

"Some old lute got stolen from the college," he slurred. "S'why the place is locked up so tight."

"Wait," I asked, thinking about something Professor Gemaine had lectured about recently. "You don't mean Finn's lute, do you?"

"That was it!" Elben said, standing up with a broad smile. The smile didn't leave his face even as he slumped back down into his chair and passed out.

I frowned in thought. If Finn's lute had been stolen from the college, it was no wonder the teachers were so concerned about security. Finn was the first bard to use an eight-course lute, and his original instrument was virtually priceless. In fact, it was so valuable that it literally couldn't be sold without so many questions being raised that it was hardly worth it. Honestly, it had probably been picked up by random burglars who hadn't realized what it was they had taken.

"You've got that look on your face," Garnag said with a smile.

"What look?" I countered.

"The one that says you're so bored that you're thinking about playing hero just for something to do," he responded.

"It's not that I'm bored," I said instantly. "Well, not just that. I figure if I can get Finn's lute back, maybe the teachers will lay off on keeping the college locked up tighter than old Grelod's moneybox. Have time for one more job together?"

"Afraid not," Garnag said sadly. "I have to get this motley crew running up through the passes to High Rock as soon as possible, though I still think that we'll get more chances to partner up in the future. This isn't goodbye, Aventus. It's just 'until next time.'" At my sad expression, he leaned over and laid a hand on my shoulder. "I meant what I said before. I think that you could be one of the great assassins of the Era. You just need to get these foolish ideas of heroism out of your head."

"Thanks for the advice, Garnag," I muttered. Something in my voice must have moved him, because he finally sighed and spoke up.

"Look, before we leave, I'll have Elbent see if he can't find some information about the thieves," he allowed. "Would that make you happy?"

"Garnag," I replied, "you have no idea."

We spend the rest of the night chatting and drinking, leaving me to stumble back to the college just before sunrise and grab a couple of hours of sleep before rousting myself for morning classes. When I got up, there was a note on my desk from Ataf saying that he had found something waiting for me outside the door when he went out for breakfast. There was a sealed envelope that I had no doubt held information from our gruff Breton, and a single red mountain flower.

I breathed in its fragrance and thought of Eiruki. I wondered when I would see her again. I didn't have any illusions about our relationship. We were siblings in the Night Mother's service who sometimes found comfort in each other's arms. There was nothing more to it than that.

Still, it was nice to know that someone out there was thinking of me.

* * *

…_to be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4: Thieves in the Night

**Chapter 4: Thieves in the Night**

It felt good to be out on the road again.

After almost a month in the Bards College—spending my days learning about music and history, and my nights practicing the mandolin and fending off Ataf's efforts at conversation—I had been feeling more than a little stir crazy. Getting to spend a night with my family had helped. Seeing Garnag again had done wonders for my morale, and Eiruki…

Well, Eiruki was a more complicated sort of well-being, but it had been good to see her too.

Still, even seeing my family again had come with a pall of gloom. Garnag and the others were on the road to High Rock, in what I felt was a sort of exile. Cicero had beaten Eiruki almost to death, and now she and the others were being sent away. It galled me, the things that Hecate let that clown get away with. But even Garnag and Eiruki hadn't seemed all that angry at him. Garnag just pushed it off on him being the Keeper, while Eiruki hadn't even wanted to talk about it with me.

The next pair of days had seen me champing at the bit to do some violence on the deserving. I think Ataf had noticed my mood being worse than usual, because he stayed well out of my way for the rest of the week. Finally, when Fredas had come and we were given liberty to leave the campus, I had immediately gone to Braste, our floor matron. She was a dotty old Nord lady and nearsighted as a stone, but she had a sweet disposition that made it hard to be mad on those occasions she couldn't tell me apart from Ataf.

After a brief and somewhat muddled conversation, I had managed to convey to her that I was going out for the weekend and wouldn't be back until late Sundas night. She had given me a leave pass, stamped it, and toddled off back to whatever it was she did when there weren't students to tend to.

From there, it had been a short jog over to Proudspire Manor to pick up my horse, Spot, and Pavot, the ice wolf loaned to me by Babette. I waved once to Jordis, the manor's housecarl, then threw myself and my saddlebags on to Spot's back and raced off to the edge of Solitude.

The feeling of freedom that came over me as I rode out of the city, Pavot racing at Spot's heels, was indescribable. After spending all of Hearthfire hemmed in by walls and rules, the ride across the frosty hills and roads of western Skyrim was like flying. Even though it was cold and damp, the sun peeking out from behind a shroud of grey only occasionally, I still felt buoyed up from within by a surge of warmth.

Once the feeling of joy had started to lessen into mere satisfaction, I slowed down my pace and scanned the horizon. I only had two days to find Finn's Lute and bring it back to the Bards College; if I didn't show up for classes on Morndas, there would be hell to pay. Still, given the information I had received from Elbent, I didn't feel like it would be too much of a challenge.

From what my Breton brother had managed to find out, the lute had been taken from the college by a couple of Solitude locals, a pair of brothers named Atrius and Coccius. They were two nobodies from the docks who had managed to get jobs on the college's cleaning staff. They had been picking up stray valuables and selling them for most of the last year. Given that they went missing at the same time as Finn's Lute—and right after the staff was getting ready to open an investigation into the minor thefts—they were a shoo-in for the robbery. Inge Six-Fingers was too important to know that cutlery was going missing from the kitchens; she had only known about the lute.

The lute was the sort of score that morons would love and anyone with half a brain would avoid like the plague. It was too famous to pawn for what it was worth, but wouldn't be worth anything at all without its fame and age being known. Small-timers wouldn't have the connections they needed to fence the thing, and big-timers wouldn't take something so obvious without a buyer. I trusted Elbent enough that if there had been a buyer lined up for the lute, he would have sniffed them out.

Elbent had been thorough. The two morons had a cousin with ties to some local bandits; he lived in a shanty a few hours ride southeast of the city. If they had fled Solitude ahead of the law, that's where they would be going. They hadn't been gone long either. I had to remember to send Elbent a nice thank-you letter when I was done with this, maybe on good vellum with some dried nightshade. His information was just as good as any dossier that Nazir had ever given me, and he had put it together in less than six hours. The man was astonishing.

That put my opposition at two lowlifes with a penchant for drinking and brawling, out of their element and on the run, plus an equally lowlife bandit relation who was currently on the outs with his gang. If I was lucky, they'd be drinking off whatever they got for hocking an old lute and the silverware they had taken. I could catch up to them, take one alive for questioning, then leave them all for the crows. If I was especially lucky, they would have just kept the damned thing, and I'd be able to take it off their corpses.

Of course, I didn't exactly have a history of good luck, which is why I was armed to the teeth.

The saddlebags thrown over Spot's back held a brace of daggers, a full-sized flanged mace, a hunting bow in case I needed food while I was on the road, a couple of dozen arrows, and everything from my chest back at school. I was carrying enough poison to kill a village, as well as basic traveling supplies. As soon as I was out of sight of civilization, I would make a quick stopover to change into my armor.

My personal suit was a set of reinforced leather armor with scale mail interwoven into the breastplate, bracers, and greaves, all done up in the red-and-black of the Dark Brotherhood. It was light enough to cover up with a cloak in case I came across people I didn't intend to kill while I was traveling, but Hecate's skill at the forge had made it strong enough to stop a crossbow bolt at point-blank range. After almost getting killed by a werewolf a month ago, Hecate had made it her personal goal to make a suit of armor that wouldn't impede my movement but was strong enough to keep me alive in the thick of the worst she could imagine. I was looking forward to testing it out.

Despite my gung-ho attitude, I knew I had to be cautious. I was still recovering from my tangle with the creature that had almost killed me. My ribs were cracked, I had bruises on most of my body, and it occasionally hurt deep in my gut and lower back if I lifted anything heavy. Babette had given me a regimen of physical therapy to follow, which I had worked into my daily exercises, and my recovery was going very well. She probably wouldn't approve of me haring off after some thieves while I was still hurt. I rationalized it as keeping in practice while I wasn't taking contracts, but the truth was that I was just plain bored.

I tightened my grip on Spot's reins, kicked him into a gallop again, and relished my freedom.

* * *

It was twilight by the time I found the cabin the three thieves were holed up at. A few flakes of snow were drifting lazily from the sky, but it didn't look like it was going to stick. When I spied smoke coming from a rough stone chimney, I tied up Spot to a tree a few hundred yards back, then pulled up my cowl and hood before creeping back.

Full dark had almost come on by the time I reached the edge of the cabin's clearing. From the woods to the back of the house was my best approach, but it still involved crossing almost a dozen yards with no cover. A little light spilled out from between the shuttered windows on the rear of the cabin; they were probably closed up tight against the weather. I decided that if they could see me through an inch of wood and in the dark, they deserved the forewarning.

The crossing to the cabin was quick and easy, but as I sidled up to the wall, I could hear growling coming from within. I tensed at the idea of having to fight another werewolf, but then I realized that they just had a dog inside with them. I smiled; I had a pet of my own. I clucked my tongue to call Pavot up out of the woods, and the great ice wolf dashed over to where I hunkered down, pressing his furry body up against mine. I enjoyed his warmth while I pulled out a knife and quietly pried apart the outer wall's sloppy boards. The knife came back covered in pitch, but I had managed to open a hole maybe an inch or two across. Pushing my eye up to the hole ruined my night vision, but it was a necessary evil. At least I had Pavot to watch my back.

Through my peephole, I could make out one room of a two-room shanty cabin. A firepit crackled away merrily in the middle of the room, a pot of stew boiling above it. A sour-looking Imperial man sat directly across the fire from me, warming his hands between stirring the stew. A mangy cur was curled up next to his feet, licking its chops and casting furtive glances at the stew pot.

"You got that rabbit chopped up yet?" the man called out to someone in the other room.

"Coming now," came back the laconic reply. "Don't twist yourself up."

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled, more to himself than for the sake of whoever he was talking to. "You're not the one had to go gadding about in the cold to catch a single measly gods-damned hare."

"Quit your bitching, Atrius," said the younger man who came walking in from the other room. His tone was even and sweet, the sort of tone someone took when they were intentionally winding up the listener. He must be Coccius then; the family resemblance was too close to be anything but brothers. "You hate cooking, so you got to hunt instead. Would you rather we starve?"

"We'll starve anyway if Vimier doesn't get back soon," Atrius groused as he scooted over to make room for his brother at the stewpot. "Where in Oblivion is that lunk?"

"Probably out on a raid," Coccius replied in a long-suffering tone, "like I must have said about a dozen times already."

Coccius leaned down to the fire and began to scrape pieces of chopped rabbit into the cast-iron pot. A stray piece escaped his grasp, and the dog lunged for it. Before the dog got halfway to the meat, Coccius lashed out with one booted foot, catching the mongrel in the ribs. The dog whined as it rolled away from the abuse, slinking out of reach. Coccius' expression never changed. I found myself frowning in disapproval; I didn't like it when people hurt animals. Coccius reached down, picked up the piece of rabbit meat, and tossed it on into the stew.

"By the Eight!" cried Atrius. "That's disgusting."

"Every little bit helps," Coccius returned mildly. "If your hound wants food so badly, it can go get its own dinner."

"Malus is a town dog," the older brother whined, throwing an arm around the whimpering mutt's neck. "He don't know how to hunt."

"Well, he had better learn," the sallow-faced Coccius responded. "That goes double for you, big brother. We might be town dogs, but we need to become wolves now if we're going to make it out here." The waver in his tone might have gone unnoticed by his brother, but I could hear it just fine. He was scared too—and well he should be. Tonight was going to be the last night of his life.

I decided that subtlety was in no way necessary. Two men, neither currently armed, no armor to speak of, with a mangy dog. I had lucked out—for a change. I would burst in the door, kill Coccius, and beat Atrius until he told me what I wanted to know…

I paused suddenly, thinking about what I was doing. I was planning on murdering two men who had done nothing worse—as far as I knew—than steal some silverware and kick a dog. It was one thing to wield a blade in the Night Mother's name, but was it okay to just murder people because it was convenient? I knew that most of my siblings in the Dark Brotherhood would consider that a perk of the job. I had even thought about how nice it would be to break some heads on the way over here myself.

Nazir's voice echoed in my head, chastising me for my bout of conscience. Cicero's voice mocked me for being afraid of blood. In the end, it was Hecate's voice that won out—the voice that told me that I had a good heart, and that she loved me for it. The nagging worry wouldn't go away, though. Hecate might say that she loved me for having a conscience, but she clearly loved Cicero more—and he was a monster, through and through.

Having decided to give these two morons a chance at life, I fell back on Garnag's lessons. He said that the best assassins were the ones with flair and panache. While he hadn't been speaking of murderers, Headmaster Viarmo had said something similar about bards. I pulled my flanged mace and tossed my cloak onto the nearby woodpile. For what I was about to do, I needed my armor to be visible for maximum impact.

Creeping around to the front door, I gestured for Pavot to heel to me and watch my back. I probably wouldn't need his help dispatching these two if it came to that, but the ice wolf would be a useful lookout in case their cousin showed back up unexpectedly. I stood, keeping my body in line with the door, and lashed out with my foot into the area right below the door handle. The front door tore off of its latch like rotten paper, crashing open and drawing both men's attention.

In the moment after I paused in the doorway, wondering if my gambit was going to work or if I had just given up the element of surprise for nothing, the two men dropped to the ground. The pot's ladle clattered out of Atrius' hand, spilling rabbit stew onto the rotten floorboards. Both men were blubbering and weeping, holding up their hands in surrender. They clearly recognized my armor, and it had far more of an impact than I had suspected it would. I guess killing the Emperor of Tamriel made people decide we were scary again after all. Some of my targets had tried to beg or bargain their way out of death before, but never with such abject fear. It almost made me feel sort of sorry for them.

"Oh gods!" cried Atrius. "Don't kill us! We didn't do nothing!"

"Please!" wept Coccius overlapping with his brother. "I don't want to die!"

I let them blubber on for a moment. Even their whipped old hound dog was cowering in the corner of the room, its paws over its muzzle and its eyes closed.

"Enough!" I finally growled in my most threatening voice after I had let them stew for a few moments. "You are the brothers Atrius and Coccius, correct?"

"No, sir!" screeched Atrius. "That ain't us! You got us mixed up with someone else!"

"Save your pleading," I snarled. "The Dark Brotherhood does not make mistakes."

"What do you want with us?" gulped Coccius, snot and tears mixing on his chin.

"You have one chance to live. The lute you two stole from the Bards College," I said evenly. "Where is it?"

"That old thing?" Atrius asked, confused. "What you want that for?"

"I'm asking the questions here!" I shouted. I slammed my mace into the wall of the cabin, shattering a board and bringing a new bout of crying from the two weasely brothers.

"Sorry, sir!" Coccius shrieked. "My brother didn't mean anything by it." He gulped, apparently dreading to tell me what he knew. "It's just… We sold it already." I nodded; I hadn't expected anything less. My lucky streak had been too good to be true already. I just needed the name of the pawn shop they had ditched it at, then I could be on my way.

"Where?" I demanded, smacking my mace into my hand for emphasis. I didn't usually enjoy pushing people around quite so much, but I guess attending the Bards College had improved my appreciation for theatricality.

"Sold it to that fat nobleman what's got his nose up Elisif's sweet ass," Atrius grumbled. "Bastard paid us a few coins to steal it out of a display case. Wasn't locked or nothing."

"Son of a bitch cheated us," Coccius added. "If we'd known the college would fuss so much over one old lute, we would have asked for more." He suddenly looked at me askance, his eyes still watery with fear. "Did someone… you know?"

"Did someone what?" I asked, keeping my voice low and threatening, wondering who the noble they were talking about might be.

"We didn't figure the lute was worth that much," Atrius mewled. "Thane Erikur said that it had sentimental value to his family, that the bards was keeping it from him. We didn't think they'd notice, since we put another one in its place. Certainly didn't think it was worth someone calling the Black Sacrament on us." He started tearing up again, then he and Coccius held onto one another and just began to weep.

I sighed inside; if they had been taken in by such a shoddy story—and tried such a slipshod cover—then they were even dumber than I thought. Killing them would be like spearing fish in a barrel.

"You are not my targets," I intoned, lowering my mace slightly. It would put them at ease, but it wouldn't make their deaths any slower if they tried anything. "No one has called the Sacrament against you."

"Thank the gods!" cried Coccius as he held onto his brother like a drowning man clutching at driftwood.

"All eight of 'em!" shouted Atrius. "Hell, thank Talos too while we're at it!"

"Silence!" I shouted, bringing their eyes back to me. "You may not be my targets, but if I find out that you've lied to me, or if you get in my way…" I gestured, and Pavot slunk into the cabin next to me, his eyes glowing red in the firelight. He growled and bared his teeth. "There would be no place in all of Tamriel you could hide from the Dark Brotherhood. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" they cried in unison, shaking and shivering.

"Some advice for you," I said as I tucked the mace into my belt. "You're not cut out for banditry, either of you. Go back to civilization and find real jobs. If I ever run into either of you again, and you're not exactly on the straight and level, I'll kill you both." I started to walk out the doorway, then paused and turned back. "And don't ever kick that dog again."

Their jaws dropped open, wondering how I had known about something that happened well before I arrived, but before they could say anything I was already back out in the night.

* * *

As I rode back toward Solitude through the worsening autumn flurries, freshly changed back into my normal traveling clothes, I wondered if I had done the right thing by not killing Atrius and Coccius. Most of the Brotherhood would have taken my sparing them as a sign of weakness. I didn't think so, though. While I didn't mind killing—even enjoyed it, after a fashion, when it was done for good reasons—I didn't revel in it the same way that many of my adopted siblings did.

I had gone over the necessaries in my head several times before the lights of the city came back into view. They had never seen my face. They didn't know my real voice. They weren't involved in any aspect of a contract. Nazir might have killed them "just in case" and Cicero might have killed them "just because," but neither of those were good enough reasons for me to take a life. The Dark Brotherhood might have the Five Tenets, but I was learning that I had my own code to follow too.

It wasn't like they had been useless to me either. They had told me the name of their buyer, and that he was a thane in the jarl's court. The entire thing disturbed me. I had assumed that they wouldn't have a real buyer, especially since Elbent hadn't uncovered any hint of a client. Anything this big should have gone through the Thieves Guild, our sister organization, and neither of those idiots had been Guild-affiliated. Honestly, the Guild had been somewhat down on its luck lately; even so, I didn't think they would resort to hiring that low on the food chain. Either the Thieves Guild didn't exist in Solitude anymore, forcing a buyer to hire outside contractors, or the buyer had done an end-run around the Guild to avoid paying their fees.

Also, the fact that this "Erikur" was in Jarl Elisif's court was a worrisome notion. I knew that being a thane was largely a ceremonial position, but it still carried weight with traditional Nords. At least, that was what Hecate had told me when I asked her about her title a while back. The entire political system was kind of a mystery to me. Current events had never been one of my strong suits.

If I wanted Finn's Lute back, I would have to figure out who Erikur was, find out why he had taken it, and discover where he was keeping it. This seemed more and more like something that I couldn't hash out in a single weekend. On the positive side, the buyer being a person of importance in Solitude meant that it was more likely he was keeping it for personal reasons, rather than trying to resell it at a profit. That meant that the lute would be staying in Solitude, probably in his home since it was a known stolen object and he wouldn't be able to display it publicly.

I trotted my horse up to the gates of the city, dismounting before I reached the guards and bringing Pavot to heel. They recognized me from when I had left earlier, so getting back into the city was no problem. No sooner had I entered the gates than I suddenly felt bone-weary. The long ride, the physical exertion, and the continuing strain on my body from my long recovery had worn me out. The walk back to the Bards College seemed like too far to even think about. Before my conscious mind had made the decision, my feet were already carrying me toward Proudspire Manor, which was closer by several blocks.

I let myself into the private lower stables with Hecate's borrowed house key. I didn't see Shadowmere in residence, though that meant less than it might considering that the demon horse had an uncanny knack for disappearing and reappearing. Still, it was most likely that the Listener had not made a last-minute trip into the city without telling me. I threw a load of hay into the first stall for Spot, poured a bucket of water, then pulled out some old hides into the other stall for Pavot; I promised myself to bring him down some meat from the pantry first thing in the morning.

I staggered into the basement through the back door, throwing the bolt behind me as I let myself in. I blinked against the darkness; it had been dim in the stable, but the basement was nearly pitch black. I stumbled around, looking for a lantern, when my toe banged into something hard and unyielding. I yelped and danced around, knocking over what felt like a stack of metal ingots. The crashing noise made me wince, and the sudden appearance of a bright light in front of me made me stagger back drunkenly.

"Stop, thief!" shouted a woman's voice, just before a body collided with mine, sending me reeling backward.

Anxious to not split my skull open on a sharp protrusion of any sort, I lashed out to grab whatever I could. The closest thing was my assailant; I got a good handful of the front of her shirt and almost managed to right myself before the fabric gave way. The woman pulled away from me, dropping the lantern she carried, and both of us wound up flat on our asses about ten feet apart. As my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I realized that I was holding most of the front of her nightshirt and she wasn't wearing anything under it.

"Jordis!" I shouted looking away from the mostly-naked housecarl. "It's me! Aventus!"

"Aventus?" she said groggily, as though she had bumped her head. She made no move to cover up as she asked, "What are you doing here?" She paused, thinking about it a moment. "Not that you don't have a right to be here. I mean, it's your home and all. I just wasn't expecting you tonight, and certainly not sneaking in like a burglar."

"Jordis," I said calmly, continuing to avert my eyes, "your shirt is torn open." She looked down, seeming to notice the torn clothes for the first time, and pulled a hand up to her mouth in surprise.

"Gods!" she cried. "I didn't mean to show you anything indecent!" She stood up like a shot, trying in vain to clutch her ripped nightgown together with one hand while using the other to pull herself upright. This was made more difficult by the fact that she kept alternating hands to try and fumble for the lantern she had dropped. Thank the Night Mother it hadn't broken, or we might have had to deal with being on fire on top of everything else. "Now Diana will think that I'm trying to corrupt her son, like in one of those trashy romance novels, and she'll hate me and send me away!"

Jordis staggered over to me, finally having managed to balance the lantern on the lip of a forge. She threw her arms around my neck and started crying, bawling incoherently about how this was all she had and she didn't mean to mistake me for a thief and don't tell my mother and she was sorry and she didn't know how this had happened. If I could have gotten a word in edgewise, I would have tried to reassure her that it was entirely my fault, but she was too busy falling apart. I was also, perhaps, not in the best position to comfort a half-naked woman only a few years older than me pressed up against me while I was exhausted. In the end, all I could manage to do was pat her on the back awkwardly while muttering "There, there."

Finally, Jordis stopped sniffling and leaned up from my shoulder. Her lips hovered near my ear, her breath brushing my cheek.

"I think I got snot on your shirt," she whispered.

I sighed and patted her on the back again. I suppose, all in all, a bruised tailbone and a dirty shirt had been a small price to pay for the day's activities.

* * *

Waking up in my overstuffed bed in Proudspire Manor was a very different experience for me.

It was my first night sleeping over in the house, and I couldn't get over how quiet it was. Living in Sanctuary—even back when it was just the six of us, back at the beginning—there was some amount of noise all the time. Even in the middle of the night, Babette would be up and about, working on her potions or poisons. The Bards College was a big building and our floor was mostly empty, but there were people above and below us, and the building itself made noises.

Proudspire Manor had been constructed of stout stone and fine wood, and the loudest noise in the whole place was Jordis coming upstairs early to make breakfast for us both. The sound of her clattering around in the kitchen woke me right away; I'm a light sleeper at the best of times, and sleeping in a strange bed had left me restless. The bed was comfortable… but it wasn't me. The house was a place for a wealthy socialite, a role that Hecate occasionally had to play, nothing more.

"Good morning, Jordis," I said as I came downstairs, hoping that the housecarl wouldn't still be upset about the night before.

"Good morning, Aventus," she replied with a jaunty smile. "I made breakfast!" I noticed with some confusion that she was wearing her usual armor, but with a chef's apron over it and a cooking mitt on one hand. Despite the clash and clatter that had been coming from the kitchen, everything still seemed like it was in one piece. I sat down at the table as Jordis laid out a plate for me.

"Aren't you joining me?" I asked when I noticed that she hadn't set a place for herself.

"Oh, it wouldn't be proper," she responded. "A good housecarl sees to her own needs last. At least, that's what Falk always says." At my questioning glance, she continued, "Falk Firebeard. He's Jarl Elisif's steward. He oversaw my training as a housecarl."

"Jordis," I started as she spooned out some runny-looking eggs, "clearly you know people in the court better than I do. I mean, I've never had to deal with politics before, so I'm pretty lost about this sort of stuff. Do you think you could help me catch up? With Diana—my mother, I mean—involved with the court again, I'll need all the help I can get."

"Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask. If I were any good at politics myself, I probably wouldn't be a housecarl."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I took a bit of the eggs; the taste made me realize I was spoiled by Nazir's cooking.

"Well, just…" she trailed off. She put the pan back on the stove and sat down at the table with a wan smile. "I was originally supposed to get married off to a minor nobleman to cement an alliance between our families. But during our engagement party, I wound up annoying him so badly that he broke it off. My father was so mad at me, but Elisif managed to convince him that I was better off following my dreams as a sword maiden."

"So you're from a noble family?"

"Only by marriage," she responded. "We were originally just a well-respected clan, but my uncle's whole family was elevated when Elisif married Torygg."

"Wait," I said, trying to get the family relationships right. "You mean you're related to Jarl Elisif."

"Didn't I say that?" she asked, confused. "We're cousins. Our fathers are brothers. We were raised together here in Solitude. My uncle Oskar—Elisif's father—was a diplomat for the Empire, so we spent a lot of time in the Blue Palace as children. It's how she and Torygg met."

"So you're perfect to explain the court to me," I said cheerfully.

"I think you might be better off with someone else," Jordis said nervously. "I'll do it if you ask… but I'm really supposed to stay near the manor to protect your mother's things. I don't want to risk something happening…" She trailed off, looking twitchy and upset. I thought that maybe she was more worried about dealing with the court than thieves breaking in, so I didn't push it anymore.

After breakfast, I wandered out onto the back porch, brushing snow off the landing as I went. A light dusting was quickly being burned off by the morning sun, but it was still a little too cold to strip my shirt off for my morning exercises. I went through my usual routine, taking it easier than usual because of my exertion the previous night.

The routine ate up time, and when I finished, breathing heavily and sweating, I was surprised to hear applause from behind me. Turning around, I recognized the young man standing there was Frothar, Balgruuf's eldest son. He was on his family's back porch, leaning lazily on the railing as he clapped.

"I didn't want to interrupt," he said jauntily, "so now that you're done: good morning."

"Good morning," I replied, his cheerful tone and smiling demeanor making me grin in return. "Do you always watch people exercising without their knowledge?"

"Only my neighbors," he laughed, vaulting up onto the railing and leaping across to my side. He landed firmly in the snow, not slipping a bit. I had always envied the ability of Nords to ignore the cold, and to move on ice and snow like dry land. It was a knack I had never quite gotten. "Truthfully, I hadn't expected to see you when I came out for my morning constitutional. I thought you were up at the Bards College."

"I was," I started. "I mean, I am. I just needed a day off—out of the school." I laughed nervously. Talking one on one with normal people was still a little new for me. It was rare I could have a conversation with someone that I wasn't threatening or forced to share quarters with. "I was feeling a little cooped up."

"You and my brother both," Frothar chuckled, sitting down on one of the stone benches. "You're still doing better than him, though." He sighed, shaking his head. "You at least started classes. Nelkir just decided to not go, and Father was too busy with the war effort to put the time toward forcing him."

"Nelkir was supposed to be attending the college?" I asked. "I knew we were supposed to have another student who dropped out at the last minute. I didn't realize it was your brother."

"No reason for you to," he continued. "It wasn't common knowledge outside of the family and the staff. And I'm pretty sure Viarmo still likes my father enough to not smear his youngest son for being a layabout."

"I didn't mean-" I started, waving my hands apologetically.

"No worries," Frothar laughed. "You didn't say it. I did. Nelkir is a good kid, but he has no ambition, no drive. All he wants to do is run around town all day, spending Father's coin and associating with the lower class. I dread to think if the boy's discovered women yet. Divines know what sort of doxies he might take up with."

My back stiffened despite Frothar's jovial tone. My mother—my real mother, Naalia Aretino—had been a prostitute, like one of the "doxies" that Frothar was so glib about demeaning. It drove home for me that Balgruuf's eldest son might be funny and charming, but he was still a Nord—and a Nord nobleman at that. I had grown up in poverty and want, on the verge of starving, with the few coins in our home bought by my mother's tears and pain. And this smiling bastard-

I realized that I was clenching my fists and shaking. Frothar hadn't noticed yet, too busy still complaining about his brother's antics. I forced myself to calm down, breathing deeply and stilling my face. By the time Frothar looked at me again, I was smiling pleasantly. My mask was back in place. I cursed myself a fool for letting it slip in the first place. Maybe Hecate had been right; the Bards College could wind up being a good experience for me.

"So, are you going to be at Proudspire more often?" he asked courteously.

"I haven't decided yet," I waffled. "Mostly, I just needed to get out of my dormitory for a while. I've been thinking about…" I trailed off, not sure if I wanted to ask a favor from someone I had just recently met. At his expectant look, I finally continued. "My mother wants me to brush up on courtly matters so that I can keep her up to date about what's going on in the capital. But the truth is that I don't know much of anything about the jarl's court."

"The High Queen's court soon enough," came a lilting voice from across the way. Frothar and I both looked toward the voice, and a beaming smile crossed the young man's face.

"Little sister!" he cried. "Jump across and join us! Clearly, you already consider yourself part of the conversation."

"Jump?" Dagny sniffed. "I think not. Even if I could make the leap, I'd ruffle my dress."

"And dislodge your breakfast, I have no doubt," her brother retorted. "Fine then, we'll come to you."

Frothar stood, brushing frost from his pants, and turned toward his sister. Dagny shrieked and backed away from the railing quickly, knowing what he planned to do. He looked at me and nodded. Once again, his easygoing manner was infectious, and I found myself running alongside him as he dashed for the railing. He was closer but I was faster, so we reached the rail at the same time, both of us leaping up onto it and launching ourselves across. Frothar landed perfectly just beyond the rail on the other side, while I dropped to a knee and forward-rolled to bleed off the momentum. I wound up right in front of Dagny, up on one knee with my hands flat on the ground.

As I looked up at Dagny, she drew a hand up to her mouth, brushing away a strand of dark blonde hair from her cheek with the other. A flush spread on her cheeks, and I wondered if she was just less resistant to the cold than other Nords.

"You should stand up before she thinks you're proposing," Frothar teased as he walked toward me. He held out a hand and helped me up as Dagny snorted in irritation. "Tricking a suitor into marriage is the only way she could attract a man, what with the way those sweetrolls keep going to her thighs." Dagny slapped her brother on the arm as he howled with laughter.

"Just because your tastes run toward those rail-thin Imperial girls," she hissed, "don't think that I couldn't get a man if I wanted to."

"Fine, fine," he chuckled as he walked toward the inner door. "I have to go now. I have a long day touring the troops with Father and General Tullius. Aventus here was saying that he needs someone to teach him about court etiquette. Since you don't have anything to do, why not show him around?"

Dagny turned to look at me with apprising eyes, looking me up and down like a butcher with a side of beef. Despite being fully clothed, I felt unaccountably naked in front of her gaze. Finally, she looked over at her brother.

"All right then," she said, bringing a look of surprise to both of our faces. "I'll do it."

"Thank you, little sister," he replied, coming back long enough to give her an affectionate peck on the forehead. "Perhaps I'll see you at court later, Aventus?"

"Not today at least," she quickly interrupted. She turned to me. "No offense, but you talk like a yokel and I doubt you even own court clothes. Today is just making sure that you'll eventually be presentable. I wonder if Radiant Raiment is open on Sundas…"

As she continued to talk, Frothar laughed once more and walked out. I cast a desperate look at his back as he walked away, wondering what I had gotten myself into…

* * *

…_to be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5: The Art of the Possible

**Chapter 5: The Art of the Possible**

I stalked through the unfamiliar terrain, moving like a shadow between the many dangers that stood between me and my prey. I could catch glimpses of it through the moving obstacles, just enough to whet my appetite for the final movements of our chase. I tensed as I began to approach, careful of my footwork. I got close enough to touch, began to reach out…

"Aventus," came Dagny's disapproving voice, "why are you going back to the buffet table again?"

I sighed, dropping my hand before I could grab another of the small shrimp puffs that only seemed to abate my hunger for moments before it came back, as strong as before.

"I'm hungry," I complained.

"It's rude to hover near the appetizers. You're probably used to going hungry, what with growing up poor," she said. I gawped at her until she reached out and pushed up my lower jaw with an outstretched finger. I simply couldn't believe that she had said something like that, considering that she went into withdrawal if she tried to go a day without a sweetroll. "Don't look at me like that," she chided. "Consider it a compliment. You've got an advantage over all of these overfed diplomats."

"And overfed spoiled princesses," I muttered.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Dagny sniffed. She reached down and smoothed the front of her dress, an Imperial-style creation in ruffled blue. "If you really want to learn to represent your mother in the court, you have to be mindful of the habits and manners of the people here."

I looked around at the gathering in the great hall of the Blue Palace. I still felt like a deer in a gathering of wolves, a sensation I wasn't used to feeling. I was normally the wolf in sheep's clothing, the shadow in the night. In this place, I was out of my depth. Honestly, I was grateful for Dagny taking an interest in my well-being, especially considering that I was lying to her. I didn't give two damns about courtly life or the lives of the high-born. I was just trying to be in a position to find out more about a man named Erikur, apparently a thane of Solitude.

"My mother doesn't care about courtly manners," I argued as Dagny took my arm and led me away from the buffet. I gave it a longing look as we departed.

"Your mother is the Dragonborn," she whispered. "She can afford to not care about anyone's opinion. You'll get no such allowances for being her son—and an adopted one, at that. Even if you weren't so insistent about not being public about it." We had managed to agree to not spread around my "parentage" to more people that already knew it. As far as anyone who wasn't already in the know would care, I was just a student at the Bards College that Dagny had chosen as her escort for this party. "Honestly, you'd have an easier time of it if you just came out and said who you were. Not much of one, but…"

"If I told everyone who I really was," I said, "I would suddenly have a bunch of enemies whose faces and names I didn't know." I shook my head. "No, it's better if I'm just Aventus Aretino of the Bards College for now. Maybe when the civil war dies down a little…"

"You really think the civil war is going to die down?" she asked, a cynical note in her voice.

Given how wealthy and important they still were, I sometimes managed to forget that Dagny's family had lost their home and position to Ulfric Stormcloak. They were guests of Jarl Elisif, along with several other banished jarls. Dagny's father, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, held a position of respect and authority among them due to his unflagging loyalty to the Empire, but it was still a position of first among exiles.

"Of course," I said with real confidence. "Now that Diana has rejoined the war effort and Ulfric's Dragonborn has been outed as a fake, it's only a matter of time until his own people start turning against him."

"I think you put too much faith in people's willingness to reject a pleasant lie," she returned. Dagny paused, cocking her head to one side. All at once, her cynical attitude faded away and she was just a fourteen-year-old girl again, holding onto my arm with a delighted smile. "I love this song!" she declared. "Dance with me!"

"Um," I started as she dragged me toward the dance floor. We were already among the couples gathered in their finery before I managed to choke out, "Dagny, I don't know how to dance."

"Oh, pooh," she pouted. "You don't know anything useful, do you?"

"I wouldn't say that," I muttered, thinking of the dozen ways I knew how to kill a man bare-handed. I looked down at her; she had her cheeks puffed out in disappointment, a sight that couldn't help but make me laugh. "I'm willing to learn if you'll teach me," I finally allowed.

"Let's see how fast you learn," Dagny replied, her mercurial face twisting into a cunning smile. I gulped, wondering for not the first time what I had gotten myself into with this girl.

* * *

"You certainly dragged the cat in this time, dearie," complained the freakishly tall, gold-skinned woman looming over me. She wasn't talking to me, though; she was talking to Dagny while she looked at me like a piece of garbage stuck to someone's shoe. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as she appraised me, and my teeth ground together at her words.

"I think you hit a nerve, sister dear," said the woman behind the counter. Looking her way, I could see that the two Altmer women had enough resemblance that they had to be actual sisters, not just the way I used the word when I talked about Meena or Babette.

"I'm not used to being insulted by shopkeepers," I snarled.

"Oh, it's not an insult, boy," returned the woman standing before me. "One must be honest with one's failings before one can improve." I paused, thinking about it. Nazir had said something very similar to me once. Of course, he had been deciding if I could be trained as a killer, but the sentiment was the same.

"They're like this with everyone," Dagny assured me, patting me on the arm. I didn't yet know what Dagny was going to get out of helping me get in good with the court, but I would do what I had to do. Erikur might not be an actual target, but I had made a promise to myself that I would recover Finn's Lute for the college. If I had to endure being dragged into clothing shops and mocked by elf women—well, I had been through far worse.

"Not everyone, dear girl," the woman was saying to Dagny. "Only the ones who need it."

"Shamefully," added her sister, "that includes nearly everyone in Skyrim."

"Aventus Aretino," Dagny said, "allow me to introduce you to Taarie and Endarie, the brilliant designers behind Radiant Raiment."

"Brilliant, she says!" the one called Taarie preened, clearly pleased by the praise.

"Taarie, Endarie," Dagny continued, "this is Aventus Aretino. He's-"

"Just a friend of Dagny's," I interrupted, shooting her a warning look. She glared back at me in confusion and annoyance. I got the impression that Dagny wasn't used to being interrupted. "She said that if I wanted to make a good impression at court, I needed to come here first."

"Well, the girl may be young," Endarie crooned, "but she has impeccable taste." She looked me up and down again; I had gotten used to being taller than almost everyone I met, but the Altmer woman stood head and shoulders above me. "I think that we can come up with something to improve on your natural good looks, rough as they are."

I blushed at being called good looking. It wasn't a way I thought of myself. I generally preferred to let my deeds carry me instead of anything as superficial as my looks, especially since I had spent the last several years training how to be unseen. Being handsome was a liability for an assassin; it was better to be forgettable. When I looked at Dagny, she had an appraising expression that I didn't understand. It was shrewd and somehow possessive, like she was examining a horse she was thinking about buying.

"Why do I need new clothes anyway?" I complained to her in an effort to make her stop looking at me like that. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Endarie threw her hands up and walked away while Taarie made a noise somewhere between gagging and coughing. Dagny snickered at their reaction, making my red face burn even brighter.

"Look, Aventus," she said while the sisters began picking out swatches of cloth, "court is all about appearances. People are made and broken on the strength of their presentation." She tapped her lower lip with a finger, thinking about it. "If court is like a battle, then your clothes are your armor. They're the first thing people see about you, even before your hair color or even what race you are. You can win friends or make enemies just by choosing the right colors, or the wrong ones."

"Armor, huh?" I asked dumbly.

"It's all about making an impression," Dagny insisted. "And it's about making the impression you want to make."

I thought about the times I had worn my Dark Brotherhood leathers into battle, using them as a tool to terrify my prey before killing them. It was true that colors could win friends and influence people; in the last two years, I had grown to hate Stormcloak blue. I supposed that Dagny might have a point about clothes making the man.

"So once I get new clothes," I continued, "then we can go to the Blue Palace?"

Dagny laughed, a high and almost mocking note. She held a hand in front of her mouth as she laughed, like she was trying to hide her teeth. I frowned; I didn't like being laughed at.

"I'm sorry, Aventus," she said when she stopped cackling. "I don't mean to laugh, but new clothes will hardly get you ready for court. Your diction is still all wrong, for another thing."

"My what now?" I asked.

"Your diction," she repeated. "The way you talk. Don't they teach you public speaking at the Bards College?"

"That's not until next semester," I said almost automatically.

"Well, we'll need to work on it a bit sooner than that if you're going to be my escort," Dagny said airily.

"Escort?" I echoed, feeling lost. "To what? When?"

"Emperor's Day is coming up at the end of this month," she responded. "I need an escort for the dance they're holding at the Blue Palace. I figure that it's the least you can do for me, considering all the time I'll be taking to get you presentable."

"A whole month?" I asked. "You think it'll take me that long to be ready for court."

"If you're serious about representing your mother," Dagny whispered, clearly understanding that I didn't want the two Altmer women to know about my relationship with Diana, "that's a bare minimum. Most of the people you'll meet in the Blue Palace have been practicing politics their entire adult lives. Some have been part of one court or another since they were children. Letting you put on fancy clothes and teaching you to pronounce the 'g' sound at the end of words is hardly adequate to the task."

"It's just fancy people in fancy clothes," I groused as Taarie came back to start taking my measurements. "It's not like it's dangerous." Taarie barked laughter and Dagny looked at me very seriously.

"With an attitude like that," the chubby girl said darkly, "they'll eat you alive."

The pit of my stomach felt cold and uneasy at her declaration. Still, I had killed men and endured wounds worse than those suffered by many veteran soldiers. How bad could it be?

* * *

The next two weeks were worse than anything I could have imagined.

Not only were the clothes I bought from Radiant Raiment more expensive than anything I had ever worn before—barring, perhaps, my Dark Brotherhood armor—they were uncomfortable too. When I complained about it to Dagny, she would only say that a pig would find even silk uncomfortable the first time he wore it. I wound up purchasing half a dozen different outfits from the rude Altmer sisters

My days were consumed with my lessons at the Bards College, but my evenings were spent learning comportment and etiquette from Dagny. Every day after dinner, I would put my mandolin and notebook away in my room, change into one of the formal outfits I had bought, and run off to meet with her at Proudspire Manor. She would stalk around me like Cicero back when he was teaching me the proper stance for knife work, correcting my posture, my tone, even my facial expressions.

"You must really like this girl," Ataf said one night when I got home just as the gates were being locked up for curfew.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I responded.

"You never do," he complained.

"What does that mean?" I said, surprised to find that his words hurt.

"All I'm saying is that you never let anyone in," he said, turning from his desk to face me. "You've been here almost two months, and no one knows anything about you. You have breakfast and lunch with your classmates, but you don't talk to anyone else. You won't even admit that you're hiding anything, even though it's as obvious as the sun in the sky. Half the time, you skip dinner to leave campus. If it's to spend time with your girlfriend, I would understand-"

"She's not my girlfriend," I interrupted automatically.

"That's what I'm talking about!" he said with vehemence. "You spend a bunch of time with a girl you won't talk about. I only know it's a girl because you say 'her' sometimes. I live with you, and I don't know even know your parents' names, what they do, nothing. You're so gods-damned secretive, Aventus. I don't know why you think you have to be, but it's not winning you any friends around here."

"I'm not looking to make friends," I told him sullenly. "I never said that I was."

"Well, you've managed to make some anyway," Ataf grumbled, "totally in spite of yourself." He ran a hand through his short hair in frustration. "People can tell you're special, Aventus." He pointed a finger at me as I started to open my mouth. "And don't say you're not special. It drives me crazy when you say that."

"What do you want me to say, Ataf?" I near-shouted, driven to the edge by his constant prodding and Dagny's cutting commentary. "What do you want from me?"

"The truth, Aventus," he said softly. "Look, I've been trying to stay out of it because you didn't want to talk about it, but you keep getting more and more secretive. You disappear for hours on end, more and more frequently. You're buying fancy clothes and you come back upset. If you're in some kind of trouble, or in with a bad crowd, I want to know. I want to help."

"What are you talking about?" I said, genuinely confused.

"I've known some people who had to go through what you've gone through," he replied. "If your parents have been hurting you, then getting into more trouble isn't the way to deal with it."

"Wait," I said, holding up my hands. "You think that my parents… have been abusing me?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Aventus," he snapped. "Where else would you have gotten so many scars? And some of them from when you would have been just a little kid?"

Before I could stop it, the laughter came boiling out of me in a wave. I laid back on my bed and just let it come, cackling at the top of my lungs until tears streamed from my eyes. Ataf stared at me with wide, unbelieving eyes, and the expression on his face just made me laugh harder. I suddenly thought of Babette laughing at me when I thought I had discovered her "little secret," and that only made my gales of laughter worse.

When I was finally done, wiping tears from my eyes, Ataf had stopped gaping at me and was instead sitting with his arms crossed and an irritated look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Ataf," I told him, "I really am." I chuckled again, a last hiccup of humor escaping me. "I don't mean to laugh, but the idea that my family would ever hurt me, for any reason…" I paused; some of them had hurt me during training, and Cicero had beaten me senseless once. "Yeah, some of my scars are from them—but only from training." It almost wasn't a lie. At least, it was close enough that Ataf didn't see through it.

"Training?" he asked. "What kind of training?"

"My mother insisted that I learn how to fight when I was young," I said, only partially lying. "She wanted to make sure I could defend myself even when she wasn't around."

"All of those scars are from practice fights?" Ataf said dubiously.

"No, of course not," I allowed. "Most of them are from people trying to kill me." His jaw dropped open again, and I almost burst back into laughter.

There was something freeing about telling a story this close to the truth, even if it was the one Hecate had made up for me in case I had to tell someone. She had always said that I was such a bad liar that I needed to stick as close to the truth as possible. I was risking a lot by letting Ataf into my confidence, but I couldn't keep him at arm's length forever. If there was anything that I was picking up from Dagny's crash course lessons, it was that friends were too valuable a commodity to throw away without good cause.

"I'm adopted, Ataf," I said, pulling myself up into a sitting position. "When I was little, my real mom got sick and died. I never knew my dad. I got put into an orphanage, and the headmistress…" I shuddered involuntarily at the thought of Grelod the Kind. "She wasn't kind at all to us kids."

"Aventus, you don't have to-" Ataf started, but I cut him off.

"You wanted to hear it, so you're going to hear it." I paused, think of what exactly to tell my roommate. "She beat us, starved us, visited all kinds of cruelty on us. No one should have to hear about the details of what she did, let alone live through it. So I'll spare you from that." Ataf looked like he was turning paler, a feat considering how dark-skinned the Redguard boy was.

"I managed to escape that hellhole," I continued, "but not without my share of scars. I managed to find decent people to take me in. They fed me, taught me, took away my nightmares. I got a family." I licked my lips; they had suddenly become dry, and my throat was tight. "My… adopted mother… has a dangerous life. She has enemies, and they would want to hurt her through her family. That's why I never talk about my family, Ataf. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous for who?" he asked.

"For them and for me," I told him. "If anyone knew who my mother was… Well, even the good ones would treat me differently. I don't want that, and she doesn't want to risk me getting hurt again. And I've been hurt by some of the bad ones."

"Who's your mother, Aventus?" Ataf asked in a low voice, whispering as though someone might overhear us.

"Her name is Diana," I said. "But most people know her as _Dovahkiin_—the Dragonborn."

Ataf stared at me, his eyes wide. Taking him this far into my confidence was a dangerous gambit, but if I could get him on my side with a potentially damaging truth—limited as it might be—then he might prove a valuable ally. Dagny had said that the best way to get someone on your side was a show of empty honesty.

"Okay, but seriously," he finally said. "Who's your mom?"

* * *

The Emperor's Day ball was my real trial by fire. It was the first time that Dagny had deigned to be seen in public with me since taking me under her wing. Approaching the Blue Palace in my finest formal wear made me feel like a pretender, like I was wearing a cheap disguise and had "Beware! Poor person!" tattooed on my forehead. Horribly enough, after all of Dagny's instruction and lessons, I felt guiltier about being a street kid from Windhelm than I ever had about being a multiple murderer.

"Remember," Dagny said, tightening her grip on my arm as we walked toward the palace gates, "you're here tonight to let people get used to your face, not to get into any arguments. Be polite, speak when spoken to, and don't talk politics."

"I thought I was supposed to be learning how to talk politics?" I asked.

"Eventually, that will be all you get to talk about," she replied. "But if you start talking about politics before figuring out what the people you'll be talking with believe, you're liable to say something stupid." She paused for a moment. "Stupider than usual, I mean."

"Shouldn't I just say what I think?" She laughed, and I coughed before continuing, "Not about everything, I mean. But shouldn't I say what I really think when it comes to, like, the civil war?"

"Everyone here is against the Stormcloaks, so that's probably a safe topic," she allowed. "But without allies or a patron, you're just an interloper on their game. You don't want to go blundering around in sensitive topics until you're sure whose side you want to be on."

"I thought we were all on the side of the Empire," I complained.

"You're so sweet," Dagny replied drily. "The strength of the Empire has always been its diversity—not just in races and peoples, but in points of view. Ulfric Stormcloak wants one people for one land, with one vision for the future. The Empire lets everyone have their own way, more or less. But with that kind of freedom comes disunity. That's what my father says, anyway."

"So what you're saying is that everyone is on their own side," I said, nodding. "They just have a common enemy."

"I wouldn't call Ulfric Stormcloak 'common,'" she said with a crooked smile. "And some of our allies are still debating about whether or not he's the enemy." She paused again. "Maybe you should avoid talking about the civil war too, come to think of it."

As we walked through the doors of the Blue Palace, I was shocked to see the decorations strung up everywhere. There were paper lanterns, strung ribbon, and enough candles to turn the night into day. The people—more than had been here on my previous visit, by several dozen—were wearing clothes of fine material and cut, silks and brocades in bright colors and patterns. It was so overwhelming that without Dagny's training, I probably would have been staring at everything with my mouth wide open.

Not that I would have admitted anything of the sort to her even under torture.

Almost as soon as we were inside, I was distracted from my wide-eyed appreciation of the gala surroundings by a sudden clap on the back. I could feel someone there before it happened, but I hadn't been expecting someone to touch me. I wheeled on my assailant, only barely keeping my fists from coming up into a fighting position, to see Frothar standing there, a broad smile on his face.

"By the Eight!" he declared to his sister, "I see that you kept your word. Aventus hardly looks like the same person at all."

"That's a good thing?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, it is," Dagny quickly interjected. She pushed up against my side and gripped my arm tighter. Frothar raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything about it. "He looks like a proper gentleman now."

"I don't know about that," Frothar said slyly. He patted me on the back again. "A gentleman needs a sword." Then he paused and leaned close, his smile suddenly feral. "But I hope that he is a gentleman in all other respects. I would hate for him to need that sword. Do we understand one another?" I didn't really, but I wasn't about to disagree with Jarl Balgruuf's oldest son, so I just nodded. He smiled broadly and winked at me. "Excellent. Then I hope the two of you have a good time."

As he sauntered away, Dagny frowned and shook her head. I looked at her, but before I could ask her any questions, people began to trickle in past us, pausing to greet her. I smiled and nodded in all the right places for what felt like forever. I thought about what Frothar had said from time to time as we mingled. Did everyone in Solitude make so little sense?

* * *

I had been pulled away from the buffet table for what felt like the tenth time by Dagny's insistent hands when the bells began to toll the midnight hour. I looked up, surprised; had it really gotten so late? It seemed like few people were taking the opportunity to leave, but I could feel fatigue beginning to creep into my bones. This event had been an endurance trial. Between the lack of real food, the constant walking or dancing, and the mental strain of being nice all the time, it felt like some strange torture more than a party.

Certainly, there were fewer people smashed out of their minds drunk than I was used to at a Dark Brotherhood party.

"Has my sister driven you crazy yet?" came a voice to my left, just behind me. I nearly jumped; I could usually sense someone getting so close. I expected to see Frothar when I turned around, but it was a younger man, perhaps my age. It took me a moment to remember his name as Nelkir, Frothar and Dagny's youngest brother. He was wearing an unfashionably dark tunic, black with silver highlights. It set off his hair and eyes, but called attention to how pale he was, a sickly white that seemed unhealthier than my classmate Jorn, who was almost as pale as a snowbank.

"Your sister has been very helpful to me," I said formally, not sure how to react at his sudden arrival. More than that, it kind of creeped me out that he had been able to sneak up on me. Maybe the party and the fatigue were dulling my edge. "Without her, I don't know what I would do." I scanned around a moment; Dagny had been content to wander off from time to time, leaving me to my own devices for long stretches. It was part of her training, to see if I could manage without her.

"That's good," Nelkir said with a thin smile, taking a sip from a goblet of wine. "I was looking forward to getting to know you better, but Dagny's been monopolizing your time. I always like to know my sister's friends."

"She's lucky to have two brothers watching out for her well-being," I replied politely.

"Well, a brother and a half," he chuckled darkly. I tilted my head to indicate that I didn't understand. "I'm Dagny and Frothar's half-brother," he explained. "We're all children of Jarl Balgruuf, but I have a different mother."

"Does that matter?" I asked. All of my own siblings were adopted, so the idea of sharing parents being important was a little foreign to me.

"Only to some people," he said vaguely. He tossed back the rest of his wine and sat the goblet down on a passing servant's tray without looking. "Anyway, it was good to see you again, Aventus Aretino. I look forward to seeing more of you."

"Thank you for your kind words," I was saying even as he walked off. I furrowed my brow as he made his way back into the crowd. I was beginning to wonder if nobles just spoke a different language than the rest of us. I certainly couldn't make heads or tails of half the things they said.

"Was Nelkir bothering you?" Dagny asked as she joined back up with me.

"Bothering me?" I asked. "No, not at all. Why would he bother me?"

"You had a look," she responded. "And Nelkir… Well, he used to be a good boy. But in the last year or two, he's just been a little brat." I looked at her, letting the doubt show on my face. Considering how rude Dagny could be at times, I wasn't sure that she had the right to call anyone a brat. "It's true," she insisted. "He goes out every night, drinking and wasting Father's money. He even dropped out of school. If Father weren't so busy with the war, Nelkir wouldn't be able to act like this."

"Can't Frothar say something?" I asked.

"Please," she sneered. "Frothar's too busy being perfect."

"Why don't you introduce me around some more?" I said, trying to change the subject to something more pleasant. "I could still use the practice." She nodded and smiled tightly, apparently grateful to be doing something other than talking about her family.

We made introductions for a while, saying hello to the better class of people. I would never remember all of their names later, but it was unlikely that they would remember mine either, so I supposed that was fair. As the night wore on, people finally began to trickle out. I despaired of finding my target and dreaded the thought of having to come to another of these functions.

"I'm going to get something to eat," I declared to Dagny. She looked over at the buffet table with something like envy.

"It's been long enough that it won't be rude," she finally relented. "But don't stay long. That boor Erikur is over there."

"Erikur?" I asked, almost shocked. I looked at the buffet table, seeing a portly Nord man shoveling food onto a plate. His fine clothes indicated that he held a good position in the court, but there was something sleazy about him. He picked up food with his fingers then wiped them on the tablecloth; his eyes roamed the backsides of serving girls. I suddenly realized that I had seen this man several times tonight already, but Dagny had never introduced us. "Is he someone important?" I finally asked.

"Unfortunately," Dagny replied. "He's a merchant who was made a thane for his contributions to the stability of the court. His sister isn't too bad, but he's unbearably venal." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "I've been trying to keep you away from him all night, so don't linger too long."

She had been keeping me away from the one person I was looking for all night? Of course she had.

Dagny sauntered away, and I straightened my tunic as I made my way over to the buffet table. I picked up a canapé and popped it into my mouth, figuring that I would need at least a little strength before beginning my introductions.

"Thane Erikur," I said formally, finally within striking range of my target after so many weeks of struggle and effort, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Actually," said the portly middle-aged Nord, "I'm already somewhat familiar with you, young man." It was an effort to keep the smile on my face

"You have the advantage of me, sir," I replied, Dagny's words falling from my lips. If it were up to me, he wouldn't for very long.

"How could I not know the Dragonborn's son?" he smiled, clapping me on the shoulder. My blood ran cold; how many people knew the truth about me? "No worries, boy," he laughed. "I know the court doesn't want it going outside. My discretion is assured. Besides, if I told anyone, your mother would skin me alive." We laughed together at what he didn't realize wasn't a joke. Hecate really would skin him alive if she found out that he had gone against her.

"You must be very well trusted to know that much," I said, feeling my chances of recovering Finn's Lute diminishing with each passing moment.

"Just between us," he said, leaning in close, "Jarl Elisif couldn't run this city without my help." I groaned inside, keeping my smile plastered in place as hard as I could.

Anyone with those kinds of connections would have amazing security, which meant it would be nearly impossible to get in and out without either being seen or killing someone. I was a master of stealth, but I was trained to kill guards that might see me and hide their bodies. Sneaking into and out of places, leaving everyone alive, was more difficult for me.

"I hear that you're in the Bards College," Erikur said, not really asking a question. I nodded and smiled. "Well, I'm something of a collector of bardic memorabilia."

"Really?" I asked, genuinely interested for the first time that night.

"Oh, yes," he chuckled, apparently happy to brag about his cultured hobbies. "I don't normally let outsiders see my collection, but given that your mother is an old friend, I could make an exception." I paused, thinking about it. Dagny had said that I could use my relationship with Diana—with the Dragonborn—as leverage, but I hadn't really considered it until just now.

"That would be delightful," I smiled. "Should I call upon you at your home?"

"Well, I'll be leaving Solitude soon on business," he demurred. I smiled inwardly. "After New Life Day, I should be free for a tour, though. As a personal favor."

"I thank you for your kindness, my thane," I said formally. His broad, smarmy smile only made me happier to steal from him.

* * *

It was easy enough for figure out when Erikur was leaving the city. Now that I knew who to watch out for, following him was simple. The man couldn't go anywhere without a contingent of guards and a pile of portable luxuries. Since it was late autumn in Skyrim, the only practical way he would be leaving Solitude on business would be by ship. My experiences as a dock worker let me disguise myself long enough to figure out which ship he would be leaving on, and then it was just a matter of killing time until his home was empty.

The week couldn't pass fast enough. I went to classes, had lunch with my classmates, kept up appearances by spending time with Dagny, and trained. Nelkir being able to sneak up on me had been an unpleasant surprise, so I redoubled my efforts in my morning routines to try and get back my edge. I was afraid that all the fine food and warm beds had started to make me soft, if a little lordling like Dagny's brother could get the jump on me.

Ataf seemed happier to be around me too. He didn't bring up my secret, but every now and then he would look at me while our classmates were talking and give me a little, knowing nod.

It hadn't been too hard to track down Erikur's home. It was in the same district as Proudspire Manor, so it would be easy to use Proudspire as a base for my infiltration. When the school week ended, I said my goodbyes to Ataf, packed my things and made my way over. My first stop was to bring a treat to Pavot and take him onto the back patio for a game of catch. I made a mental note to take him for a decent run outside the city walls after I was done recovering the lute.

While I was throwing things for Pavot to bring back to me, I heard the approach of slippered feet on stone. I paused in our game and turned to see Dagny walking onto the patio, a heavy fur stole around her shoulders to ward off the cold.

"I don't see how you can survive in this weather in just a tunic and trousers," she grumbled. "Shouldn't you be wearing a coat at least?"

"Playing with Pavot keeps me warm," I laughed. I threw the stick again, then braced myself when the ice wolf brought it back and almost crashed into me in his enthusiasm.

"If I didn't know better," Dagny said, "I would swear that your dog was an ice wolf."

"He might have some ice wolf blood in him," I allowed. "He's kind of a mutt." Pavot looked up at me with hurt eyes, as though he could understand what I was saying. I laughed and rubbed him behind the ears until his tongue lolled out happily.

Dagny walked over and tentatively reached out toward him. I was prepared to pull her away if I had to. Pavot didn't like very many people. He didn't bite except on command, but he could seem quite scary when he wanted to be. Fortunately, he seemed to like Dagny; at the least, he tolerated her petting him. As she rubbed the top of the ice wolf's head, she turned to look at me and smiled. Her fingers slowly circled mine, until she was rubbing the back of my hand instead of Pavot's head.

I looked down at her, wondering what she was doing, when she closed her eyes and tilted her head up toward me. I stared at her in confusion until she opened her eyes again. Her lips curled into a pout and she put her hands on her hips.

"You really don't know anything useful, do you?" she complained. Before I could respond, she leaned up and pressed her lips against mine. I gasped in shock, parting my teeth enough for her tongue to briefly test mine before withdrawing. Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned down into her kiss, closing my eyes and just enjoying the moment. Finally, after a long time, we both drew back to take a breath.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"I felt like it," Dagny said with a flutter of her hair. "Don't think that it means I like you or anything. I just felt sorry for you, that's all."

"Sure thing, princess," I said with a smile. "Whatever you say."

Before I could lean in to kiss Dagny again, I happened to look behind her. Past the low wall of Proudspire Manor's patio, across the small gap, on the patio of Dagny's house, I could see Nelkir standing there. I had no idea how long he had been there, watching us, but his face was dark and his eyes hateful.

If I didn't know better, I would swear that he was thinking about killing me.

* * *

…_to be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6: Heist Games

**Chapter 6: Heist Games**

I broke my kiss with Dagny so suddenly that she gasped. She looked up at me, worried.

"Aventus," she said in a hurt voice. "What's wrong? Did I…"

"It's Nelkir," I said, looking past the top of her head. I looked down at her, seeing the confusion on her face. "He's watching us," I explained. Pavot growled low in his throat, but I put a light hand on the ice wolf's muzzle to make him be quiet. Chastised, my companion backed away a few paces and laid down on the stone, but he never took his intense blue eyes off the Nord boy.

"That little creep," she huffed, her pale face turning bright red in frustration. Dagny turned on her heel and began to stomp her way toward the edge of the veranda. When I looked back up to where Nelkir stood, his face was more relaxed—almost amused. I blinked rapidly, trying hard to retain the image of his furious expression.

"About time," the boy drawled as his sister stalked up to the railing. The two of them were almost ten feet apart, across the small gap between Proudspire Manor and the rear porch of Jarl Balgruuf's home. "I swear, big sister, I was beginning to think that you might be destined to become an old maid."

"I'm fifteen, you ass!" she hissed at him, her hands clenched white on the railing. I had a feeling that if Nelkir were any closer, those delicate hands might be wrapped around his neck.

"Women aren't like wine," he laughed, pulling a metal flask out of his pocket and taking a long drink. "Let them go too long, and they spoil." He laughed again, a slightly uneven noise that made me shiver. "Of course, we don't have to worry about you getting any more spoiled than you are already. Isn't that right, Princess Sweetroll?"

"I told you not to call me that!" she yelled, and began to clamber up onto the railing. If I hadn't caught up to her and grabbed her shoulder, I really think she would have tried to make the jump, bustle and all.

"Cheers!" Nelkir shouted when he saw me restraining his sister. He nodded and took another liberal swig from his flask. "Good to see you again, Aventus."

"Really?" I asked, trying to hold onto both the chubby girl in my arms and my dignity. I was succeeding at the former, but mostly failing at the latter. "From where I was standing, it looked like you weren't too happy."

"Just a little surprised," he replied, tucking away the flask with a hurt look on his face. He seemed so sincere that I couldn't help but question what I had seen before. "And I was a little upset to see my sister smooching on some idiot—until I realized it was you, of course." I nodded slowly. That sounded reasonable—and it was more likely than Nelkir harboring some murderous grudge that he was suddenly able to hide completely.

"Who else would it be?" Dagny huffed, finally relaxing in my grip a bit. "We're on the porch of Aventus' house!"

"You could have just come over here to be out of Frothar's sight," Nelkir responded. "Not really necessary, by the way, since he's out for the day." He paused, a slightly addled look on his face "No, I suppose I really didn't think that one through very well. Suffice to say, the fault is all mine." He gave a mocking half-bow with a devilish smile and Dagny sighed in frustration before going slack in my arms.

"You little idiot," she said, shaking her head. She shook me off her arm and leaned on the railing, clearly still annoyed but no longer frothing mad. "So, are you going to tell Frothar about this? Or Father?"

"Of course not," he replied at once. Dagny seemed taken aback. "Why should I have all the fun in this family? I'm thrilled that you finally have a boyfriend."

"He's not my-" she started, only to have Nelkir cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand.

"So you were just sucking face for your health?" Dagny and I both turned red this time, and Nelkir laughed long and hard. "Please forgive me, sister. But if you could see your expression right now, you'd laugh too."

"I somehow doubt she would," I muttered, drawing another burst of laughter from Nelkir and a sharp look from Dagny. I rolled my shoulders and wondered if every noble was required to take a big dose of crazy on a daily basis, or if it was just Balgruuf's children.

"I was just stepping out for a sip of courage before dinner," Nelkir said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. "I take it you're still joining us?"

"Is Father coming home for dinner?" Dagny asked, seeming cheered by the prospect.

"Sadly, no," Nelkir informed her. Her shoulders slumped and she frowned. "Irileth tells me that he is in deep counsel with the jarl and her advisers. I wonder if said counsel will involve mead and dancing girls. I might be more interested in politics if that were the case." Seeing Dagny's face become stormy again, he chuckled and shrugged. "I'm just saying that I don't know what sort of planning can be done with General Tullius out of the city and winter coming. No one can move troops in the winter time."

"No one but Ulfric Stormcloak," Dagny hissed. "Or have you forgotten the night he took our home from us?"

"I've forgotten nothing," Nelkir said in a low, dangerous voice. His face dropped all pretense of courtesy and pleasantness, becoming dark and pained. "I will never forget the night the Stormcloaks came to Whiterun—or the things that happened then." Nelkir turned on his heel and stormed off.

I could see the family resemblance. How many times had Dagny done that same dramatic exit when she was done explaining herself?

"What happened to him?" I asked softly once he was gone.

"Nothing happened to Nelkir," Dagny said, not looking at me. "Nothing more than happened to the rest of us. We all lost important things that night—and important people."

"I thought the Stormcloaks preferred to take members of the court alive," I replied.

"Preference doesn't always mean getting what you want," she said softly. "Our court wizard was killed, and a lot of our house guard."

"Your court wizard?" I asked. "Farengar, right?" She nodded, still not looking at me. "My mother spoke kindly of him." Dagny laughed bitterly.

"They argued all the time, as far as I know," she said, shaking her head. "But he and Nelkir were close. I think that Nelkir might have been interested in becoming a mage himself, before the Stormcloaks attacked Whiterun. He was always a little jerk, but after we fled the city he became downright vicious." She sniffed and ran a hand discretely across her cheek; I hadn't realized she was crying.

"Maybe he just misses his friend," I offered.

"We all miss Farengar," she said in a thick voice. "We all miss home."

And then the floodgates opened and Dagny began to weep openly. She turned to me and buried her face in my chest, sobs wracking her body. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head, as I had seen Cicero do for Hecate on more than one occasion. It had seemed to help Hecate, and I didn't know what else to do.

In my heart, I cursed Nelkir for turning what had been a very pleasant evening into something ugly. I knew it wasn't his fault—he was probably just as hurt as Dagny was—but it didn't stop me from being angry.

* * *

It was well after sunset by the time Dagny left for home. All at once, her crying had stopped, she composed herself, thanked me, and left without another word. I stood there in the gathering dark for long moments, trying to understand what had passed between us—wondering if Nelkir had somehow spoiled it, wondering how I actually felt about her. Pavot senses my disquiet and nuzzled up against my leg, finally breaking me from my reverie.

I shrugged it off as best I could and went inside Proudspire Manor. The place was lit up so I gathered that Jordis, Diana's housecarl, was in attendance. I really had no idea what the woman did when either I or my adopted mother weren't in residence, but she had always been at the mansion whenever I stopped by. As I stepped inside and rubbed my arms to get warm, I could smell something wafting out of the kitchen.

I suddenly realized how hungry I was. It had been my intention to just grab something from the pantry and head out; between being cold and confused, I decided that it would be worth my time to see if Jordis minded me using the kitchen once she was done. As I walked in, I saw her crouching next to the fire, keeping the coals under it banked. When she saw me, she stirred them with a metal poker to bring them back to life, bringing more heat under a large covered cook-pot.

"I didn't know how long you'd be," she said, "so I kept dinner warm while you were busy."

"Jordis…" I started. "Have you been in here this whole time?"

"Well, I didn't want to eavesdrop or anything," she said with a slight blush, looking back at the fire. "You're here so rarely, I thought it was the least I could do to make dinner."

"That's… Thank you," I finally managed to get out. It touched me that someone I barely knew would be so nice to me. Thinking back on it, I realized how often I had been the recipient of kindness from strangers; in a very real sense, I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for such acts.

When you're an assassin, it's easy to forget that there are good people out there too. You start thinking about the world in terms of clients, targets, and killers. But there are other kinds of people—decent people. It was good to have a reminder of it from time to time. I had planned on just stopping in and grabbing some food before rushing off to steal from Erikur, but the sincere, almost pathetic look on Jordis' face convinced me to stay a while.

"What are we having for dinner?" I asked.

"We?" she responded, seeming confused. "I figured that I would just get whatever you left behind…" She paused and looked up at me with sad eyes. "I'm used to getting other people's leftovers. It's not so bad. Once you get used to it." I paused, taken aback by the old pain I saw in her face. Finally, I made a decision. Maybe it was time to start giving back some of the kindness that people had been showing me for years.

"Jordis, do you serve my mother?" I demanded.

"Of course, Aventus," she said in a slightly hurt voice.

"So you serve me too, right?"

"With my life, if need be," she responded.

"Then I order you to have dinner with me," I continued. Her face slowly lit up like a warm spring morning. She might not be as stunningly beautiful as her cousin, Elisif the Fair, but she was far from ugly. "If I'm going to be here at Proudspire Manor, I can't feel like the place is empty. And… I'd very much like us to be friends."

"Friends?" Jordis said in a small voice. "I've never had very many friends before."

"Neither have I," I told her. "So it's a new experience for us both." I held out my hand to her in the Imperial style, offering a friendship that I would never have thought to give only a few months before. Maybe Ataf was rubbing off on me after all.

I was only a little surprised when she ignored my hand and wrapped me in a full-on hug, crushing my arms to my side in her powerful embrace. I guess being a sword-maiden gave you good upper-body strength. The hug seemed to last forever, with Jordis babbling into my ear about how grateful she was and how she wouldn't let me down and how she'd be the best friend ever.

"Jordis…" I finally managed to choke out.

"What is it, Aventus?" she asked.

"You're choking me."

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she released me from her bear—like grip. "I'm so sorry!"

"No problem," I told her with a smile, worried that she might get upset enough to bolt away. "Now, what do we have to eat? I'm starving."

She smiled at me and turned back to the fire, eager to show me what she had laid out. I smiled to myself a little too; I might not get to hit Erikur's house tonight, but the lute would still be there tomorrow.

* * *

"What do you mean, she doesn't want to see me?" I said with far more hurt in my voice than I'd intended to let out.

"Just what I said," Irileth replied, shutting the door behind her and crossing her arms. The message was clear: I wasn't welcome in Jarl Balgruuf's home right now. "Dagny said she doesn't want any visitors, and she didn't make an exception for you."

"I just don't understand," I sighed. The morning sun was doing nothing to drive away the cold, but the weather was less frigid than the reception I was getting from Balgruuf's housecarl. "Have I done something wrong?"

"It's not my place to say," the Dunmer woman said in a voice that dripped with venom. Clearly I had done something to offend Dagny; I just didn't know what it was.

"All right then," I finally said. "If you get a chance, please let her know that I stopped by. And give her my thanks for all the help." I started to turn away, then paused because of the slightly incredulous look on Irileth's face. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. "Just surprised that you're not throwing a tantrum. Young men thwarted by a girl often do."

"It's her life," I said with as much dignity as I could muster. "If she doesn't want to see me, she doesn't want to see me."

"Do you really want to see her?" Irileth asked, with what sounded like genuine curiosity.

"I wouldn't have come here if I didn't," I replied.

"That's not what I asked," the housecarl returned. "Do you, Aventus Aretino, want to see Dagny? Or does the son of the Dragonborn want to see the daughter of Jarl Balgruuf?"

"Why does everyone bring it back to politics?" I asked, unable to hide my resentment. Irileth seemed taken aback by the rancor in my voice. "I don't know what I did to piss Dagny off, but let her know I'm sorry about it, okay? Wish her the best from me."

"Hold on," Irileth said before I could leave. I sighed in frustration and crossed my arms to mimic her stance. She leaned in to speak more quietly to me. "Dagny isn't angry at you. She's just not feeling well today."

"Why didn't you just say that then?" I demanded.

"I wanted to see what kind of person she was getting involved with," she responded. "I've seen young lordlings throw a fit in public if they can't see their lady friend right away, and it embarrasses everyone. Still, it's better than a young lady winding up with boy who would shame her more in the long run. You seem to actually care about Dagny, and not just her position. That's… refreshing."

"She's done a lot for me," I said, cooling down a bit. "And thinking about position isn't something I'm used to."

"I suppose not," Irileth allowed. "Come back tomorrow, and hopefully she'll be feeling well enough to see you."

"Thank you," I said with a small bow.

"Gods know you still need her," Irileth chuckle. "That bow was terrible." My face flushed as I straightened up, which only made Irileth laugh more. I shook my head and started to walk away, and Irileth let herself back into the house.

Before I had gone more than a few steps, I heard a tapping noise coming from above me. I looked up toward the source of the sound and saw Dagny at a window on the second floor. She looked pale and drawn, but she was smiling wanly. She pressed one hand up against the glass pane and made a small wave. I smiled back and held up my hand. Her mouth moved; only because of my training with lip reading could I make out "Sorry."

"It's okay," I mouthed back. "Tomorrow?"

She nodded, her face brightening up slightly before she winced and put a hand to her stomach. She waved goodbye and moved away from the window.

I shook my head as I began to walk across the district. Nobles and their housecarls and their damnable games. Irileth seemed more straightforward than most people I had met through the court—Dunmer tended to be pretty vocal about their opinions, in my experience—but even she couldn't resist testing me. I didn't like playing games. I wish she could have just said "Dagny's on her period. Come back later." That, I could have dealt with.

It's not like I hadn't lived around women before. Even back when I was living with my mother in Windhelm, I had realized she wouldn't work for two or three days each month because she was "feeling poorly"; she didn't tell me about it specifically, but the regularity of it wasn't something that you could miss. The female humans and mer in the Brotherhood had made something of a joke about it with the beast-kin, since Argonians and Khajiit didn't suffer the same cycle. Now that I thought about it, I had a lot more sisters than brothers in my adopted family.

Hecate was worse than most, actually. She only seemed to get her period every three or four months, but it was like battening down for a storm whenever it happened. She spent a lot of time sequestered, and everyone else got out of Sanctuary as much as possible because of how miserable she became to be around. Cicero even installed a warning bell to let everyone know they should find a rock to hide under; he called it "the doom bell." A little dramatic, I thought, but the Fool of Hearts was given to grand gestures.

Truthfully, I was surprised at how upset I was at not being able to see Dagny. She had been a royal pain in my side for weeks, even as she prepared me for the harsh realities of courtly life. I knew that I liked her as a friend, but her kissing me had come out of left field. I hadn't disliked kissing Dagny… Actually, it had been very pleasant. Still, I knew that people outside the Dark Brotherhood had different ideas about what that sort of activity implied. Stuff about long-term relationships and courting and things I didn't really understand all that well.

Could I have a relationship with someone outside the Brotherhood? Did I even want to? It was all so confusing.

Still, not seeing Dagny gave me a little more time to scope out Erikur's house during the day. I had been by the place before, of course, but it never hurt to give your target one last look before committing to a mission. Especially since I was acting outside of my core training—that training being "kill everyone in my way." No, this task called for more stealth and less murder than I was used to.

Erikur's stately home was only a few blocks away from Proudspire Manor, in the same district of Solitude. This part of the city catered to the wealthy and the high-born. Erikur's home might have been newer than many of the buildings in the district, but it was no less well-appointed. A narrow three-story manor near the district wall, Erikur's house was clearly built on a plot of land purchased between older, more venerable homes. Its walls and gables were fine stone and clean slate, and it even had a small veranda on the side. It was a short walk from both Castle Dour and the Blue Palace, the twin beating hearts of the city's political life. Perfect for a social climber like Erikur.

As I walked down the street, I glanced at the veranda; that would be my point of entry. There was a terraced outcropping off to one side of the house from a higher level of the city. From that, I could toss a line across to the veranda and make an approach from a part of the house out of the eye of any random guard patrol. If I was especially lucky, it wouldn't be locked. Since I didn't believe in relying on luck, I would be bringing along a crowbar to force the lock.

Scanning across the house, I happened to notice a young woman on the opposite end of the street. She was brown-haired and tall, probably a Nord, wearing the garb of a serving maid. She was looking at the house too; her pensive expression indicated that she might be considering looking for work there. I didn't envy her the task. Erikur seemed like he would be as much of a boor to work with as he was to deal with in court. Any house maid of his was probably signing up for a working experience full of random groping and drunken leers. I considered warning her off before deciding that it was really none of my business.

Something about her struck me as unusual, though. It finally hit me that a serving maid normally didn't wear finely-crafted leather boots with her tattered, patchwork dress. I started walking toward her, not really sure what I would do when I caught up to her, when she noticed me and abruptly turned away. She began walking directly away from me at a brisk pace, which only heightened my interest. People with nothing to hide didn't run from random strangers.

I picked up my pace and she picked hers up too, making a sudden turn into the alleys just off the upper district. I paused for a moment before following. It could well be an ambush. Finally, I decided that anyone stupid enough to try and jump me for my coin purse probably deserved whatever happened to them, and I followed.

I managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of her scarf as she turned the corner ahead of me, and I sped up into a jog, For a moment, it seemed like I would catch up to her. But as I turned the next corner, I found myself in a dead-end alleyway, with only rats and pigeons for company. I slowly turned around, scanning up and down the alley for any sign of her. I braced for any possible attack that might come.

Nothing.

Somehow, she had lost me. I wondered who she might have been, and where she could have gotten the skill to lose a trained assassin who was trailing her. More than that, though, something about her had been familiar. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I was certain that I had seen her somewhere before. I searched around for a few minutes, seeking some sign of her, before I finally gave it up and decided to head home for lunch. I had things to do today, after all. Little mysteries like this one could wait.

As I left the alley, I was sure that I felt eyes on my back, but I didn't bother looking again. If she had evaded all of my efforts to find her, I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of me being spooked by it.

* * *

It was time.

Cold winter night had fallen across Solitude, and the streets were empty enough to give the city cause for its name. Even the guards were patrolling thinly, preferring to huddle around coal-filled braziers to keep their gloved hands from going numb. I had taken the opportunity to switch into my Dark Brotherhood leathers, something I got to do only rarely these days, but had taken the practical addition of a woolen cloak and muffler. As I'd been forced to repeatedly remind my friends at the Bards College, I wasn't a Nord, so I had to take more precautions against the cold.

As I closed in on Erikur's house, I circled the area through neighboring alleyways to get a good look at the place before breaking in. None of the lights were on inside, so the couple of guards Erikur had left in the house were probably sleeping. As long as I didn't get too noisy, no one would have cause to even leave their beds. The moons were hidden behind clouds, and a light snow was falling from the sky. Fortunately, I wouldn't have to worry about leaving any tracks that anyone could follow, since I wouldn't be making my approach from the street.

I walked around the far side of the block to break line of sight with anyone that I might not have noticed, then paced back around to my elevated position that overlooked Erikur's side porch. A quick toss of my grappling hook and line secured it in place, then I tied it off on my end and shimmied across, hanging from the rope by my hands and ankles.

Once I reached the porch, I dropped silently to the ground and looked over the edge. Unless someone walked right through this side alley and looked directly up at the right angle, my line would be invisible—which was good, since I didn't want to risk leaving through the front door, and a two-story drop off the side of the house would probably wind up with me twisting an ankle if I was lucky.

I pulled my crowbar out of the slim pack strapped to my back and made ready to pop the door off its catch. Before I did, I checked it just to be safe—and found it unlocked. I smiled under my muffler at my turn of good fortune. No sense looking a gift horse in the mouth. I stowed the crowbar back in the pack, secured it, and slipped in through the door as quick as I could while keeping quiet.

Now I was at the point where I was operating off of guesswork and observation. An inquiry with one of the maids a few weeks before had gotten me a vague sketch of the interior layout, including a locked room which she believed was Erikur's study. Even the cleaning staff weren't allowed in, which made me strongly believe it was where Erikur kept his most valuable possessions—hopefully including Finn's Lute. If I had to search the place top to bottom, I would do it, though it wasn't my first choice. I didn't like to think about what I would do if it wasn't here, but I would bet good septims that Erikur was exactly the sort of arrogant bastard who would keep his illicit gains within easy access for gloating.

I moved through the house as quietly as my training allowed, blending with the shadows and ducking below windows to avoid even the chance of notice by any passerby. The house was silent save for the groaning of the wind outside and the occasional creak of the foundation settling. From my quick glances outside, it seemed like the moons were occasionally breaking through the clouds, filling the city with a gentle silver glow. I crept up to the second floor, to the door that was always locked.

It was standing open, just an inch.

I froze in front of the door. Generally, when your luck seemed too good to be true, it was. I pulled out my collapsible mace and kept my thumb on the catch that would release it to its full length. The heavy ebony gave me some reassurance in case of trouble. I slowly pushed the door open, peeking through to see if anyone was waiting for me. Once the entrance was wide enough to put my body through, I snaked inside and pushed the door back to its almost-closed state.

There was no one inside.

A quick scan of the room confirmed my initial glance. The place was empty, save for a desk covered in neatly-stacked papers and several shelves and display cases. The shelves were covered in valuable-looking trinkets, most of them quite gaudy as befit a man of Erikur's venal tastes. In the middle of the room, in a place of honor, was a tall glass case with a gold stand, on which sat Finn's Lute. I smiled under my muffler, pacing toward the case.

I paused a moment, thinking about the culmination of my weeks of effort to find this historical treasure. It was a piece of interesting memorabilia to me, though I didn't feel the same sentimentality about objects that some people did. Somewhere along the line, though, I had become obsessed with Finn's Lute. At first, I thought that returning it could get me some amount of freedom from the gilded cage I was living in at the Bards College. Then it had become a reason in and of itself, a hobby to keep me occupied and distracted from dealing with the reality of my new life.

As I looked at the ancient musical instrument, I realized that now I could let go of all of that. Maybe now, after I returned the lute to its proper place in the collection of the Bards College, I could actually start moving forward with my life. I could try to figure out what my relationship with Dagny was turning into—if I really cared about her, or if she was just a friend. I could think about having real friends who weren't hired killers, about my studies…

For the first time since I had come to the Bards College, I felt truly free again. The moons broke through the clouds outside, spilling light into the window on the far side of the room. As the light passed through the glass case, it turned the glass reflective. I could see myself clearly in the mirror-like surface.

And I could see someone creeping up behind me.

I spun, flicking out the mace to its full length and taking a broad swipe at the approaching figure. My opponent rolled backward out of the reach of my attack, then darted back in to deliver a series of quick rabbit punches to my stomach. The reinforced leather armor kept the worst of it from me, but it still staggered me a step and slowed me down. I was barely able to block my foe's uppercut toward my jaw with crossed wrists, but then her hands closed over the top of mine and she head-butted me hard enough to make me see stars and drop my mace.

I suddenly realized that I was thinking of my opponent as a woman. As I shook my head to clear it, I saw that my assessment was correct. She was nearly as tall as me, broad-shouldered like a Nord woman, wearing dark brown leather armor with a hood that hid her hair and eyes from me. The lower part of her jaw was distinctly feminine, though, and the body that was under the armor spoke of both curves and muscles. The armor didn't look like that of a normal city guard; maybe she was a mercenary that Erikur had hired to protect his house while he was gone.

She didn't slow her assault as I assessed her, pressing forward with a series of forward jabs and snap kicks. I parried everything I could, but her hand to hand skills were at least as good as mine, and the element of surprise had put me off my game. I was also better with weapons than bare-knuckle brawling; losing my mace tilted the fight out of my favor. Not to mention that I was a lot more used to killing people who weren't aware of me, and I was months out of practice with fighting real opponents. I cursed losing my sparring partners more than ever. If I survived the night, I would have to find someone I could train with.

I realized I was making excuses while I was getting my ass kicked, and I quickly focused my mind on the fight.

I let a couple of jabs through to my armored body so that I could shoulder-check my enemy back a few feet. She stumbled, almost crashing into a glass case on the far side of the room. She dropped her guard for just a second to check her fall and avoid breaking anything. While it could have been the conscientious action of a good employee, it struck me more as the desperate maneuver of someone who was trying to avoid drawing attention. I suddenly realized that she hadn't called for help either; the two of us had been fighting in near-silence, save for our heavy breathing and the occasional thud of impact.

She was a thief, not a guard. And a pretty good thief too, to hide from me in a room this small. I had heard Hecate mention the Thieves Guild before, but she had never spoken of them with anything but contempt. To see this level of competence from one of them was shocking.

I capitalized on her moment of hesitation to put a low display stand between the two of us. Cicero had always said that nothing was a good substitute for a sharp knife and a bad attitude, but anything could be turned into a killing implement by a skilled assassin. As she darted toward me, I picked up a heavy vase and chucked it at her, forcing her to catch it to avoid making any noise. She spun and put it down, then turned toward me just in time to catch my crowbar across her stomach.

Her hair flew out around her face as she gasped heavily, all the air knocked out of her lungs. The brown strands flew in the air and her hood fell down as she tried to straighten up. As I locked eyes with her, I recognized her as the "maid" I had seen in the street earlier in the day. She must have been scoping the place out too; it certainly explained how she had managed to get away from me before. I considered asking her who she was—that sense of familiarity was haunting—but I decided that practicality had to win out. I would feel a little bad about bashing her brains in with a crowbar, but I doubted that anyone would miss a common thief.

I lifted the crowbar above my head to deal the coup de grace, but she dropped into a crouch and quickly stood up, recovering faster than I would have expected after taking a metal bar to the gut. Her outstretched hand took me in the throat and sent me reeling back. The crowbar dropped out of my numb fingers and clattered to the ground.

"What was that?" came a voice from the hallway.

The thief and I looked at each other with wide eyes, then at the door and back to each other. We had gotten so wrapped up in our fight that we hadn't heard the house guards begin their patrol. We dove in different directions, seeking cover in the small room. She snatched up my crowbar as she went past, tucking it into her belt, and I scooped up my mace, collapsing it back to concealed mode. She rolled under a display table, pulling the decorative fringe closed in front of her hiding place. I had a moment of admiration for how completely she had vanished before finding my own hiding place.

The door opened, admitting two burly guards just as I finished settling into place. They scanned the room, looking for whatever had made the noise.

"I told you it was nothing," said one of them.

"Mister Erikur never leaves this door unlocked," said the other. "And I tell you, I heard something."

"Probably just the house settling," the first one said. "Half the time, when the wind blows, it sounds like someone crying upstairs."

"Maybe the place is haunted," grumbled the second guard.

"Place is too new to be haunted," the first countered. "No one's ever died in here."

I strained to keep my arms and legs stiff, holding myself in place in the rafters a few feet above their heads, not daring to breathe lest they look up. They wandered around the room for a minute or two, chatting about whether or not a new house could be haunted, before finally giving it up and leaving, closing the door behind them. The thief and I both waited for almost another minute before we came back out of our hiding places, wary and alert in case one of us started up our fight again.

I held out my hands in a gesture of peace, hoping to resolve this before drawing the guards' attention back. If I got an easy opportunity to kill her, I would certainly take it, but my time in the Bards College had already started me thinking about how to turn enemies into opportunities with conversation.

"You're no guard," she hissed.

"Neither are you," I retorted.

"The Guild doesn't take kindly to scabs," she warned, edging toward the case with the lute in it. "When Guildmaster Frey hears about you, he'll have you hunted to the ends of Tamriel."

"And who will do the hunting?" I asked viciously. "The Dark Brotherhood?"

"That's right," she replied.

"Little difficult to get them to hunt one of their own," I told her, pulling back my cloak to show the Black Hand emblazoned on my red-and-black armor. Her brown eyes widened, and I smiled under my muffler again.

"Are you here to kill Erikur?" she asked, apparently not shocked by the idea. My estimation of how cold these thieves could be went up again. "If so, he's out of town."

"I'm not here for the thane," I told her. "I'm here for Finn's Lute."

"What does an assassin want with an antique lute?" she asked.

"None of your concern," I growled.

"I'm afraid it is," she shot back. "I'm here for the lute too. I think since my organization handles stealing, and yours kills people, you're the one out of your element here."

"Fair enough," I allowed. I paused, thinking of what she had called me earlier. "The Guild doesn't take kindly to scabs, right?" She nodded. "That's why you're here. Erikur went around you for the lute so that he wouldn't have to pay your cut. Now you're here to steal the lute back and punish him. That about right?"

"Pretty clever for an assassin," she smiled. She paced toward me, grinning. I paused, ready for an attack. "I bet you're pretty handsome under that cowl too," she purred, running a hand toward my face. I grabbed her wrist, catching her short of my muffler.

"Don't," I warned.

She pulled her wrist free and spread her hands in the air, gesturing as though it didn't matter to her. While she held my gaze, and without ever losing her wide smile, she suddenly slammed her hands onto my shoulders and brought her knee up into my crotch with bone-crushing force. I slumped to the ground, struggling very hard to not throw up into my scarf while she put a square-toed boot into my stomach. As I rolled on the ground, trying to catch my breath and get the spots out of my vision, she dashed to the case, pulled it open, and snatched the lute out by its neck. I groaned, partly from the pain and partly at the horrible offense of seeing a historical relic so mishandled.

"It's been fun, handsome," the thief whispered to me before pacing toward the door.

"No, it hasn't," I managed to choke out as I held out my arm and thumbed the catch on my mace. It sprung to its full length and she stepped on the ball at the end, slipping comically with her hands thrown into the air. She tottered backwards as the lute arced across the room. I rolled onto my back and caught the lute by its body as she crashed into a glass display case, shattering it into a million glittering fragments.

"What the hell?" came a startled shout from somewhere on the first floor.

I scrabbled up to my feet and ran for the door, pushing out into the hallway with the thief close on my heels. A quick glance back showed that her hair was full of glass and her face was twisted into an ugly grimace. We were both slower than usual from our injuries, but quick enough to make it to the side veranda before the guards came up the other side of the house.

Once we were both outside, I tossed her the lute and snatched my crowbar from her belt. She was so shocked at the switch that she didn't even have time to fight back. I turned away from her and jammed the crowbar into the door frame.

"That'll hold them for a minute if they come this way," I told her. "What was your plan to get out with the lute anyway?"

"Hole up until morning, then leave with the cleaning staff," she responded quickly. "Throw the lute in with a laundry basket and just walk out the front door."

"Clever," I allowed, turning back to her. I pulled the pack off my back that I had carried the crowbar and rope in earlier, grabbed the lute back from her, and stuffed it inside. I closed the bag's opening around the neck and tied it shut, then handed it to her. "Carry it across," I told her. "I'll be right behind you."

She didn't ask questions or look twice. She just strapped the lute onto her back and jumped up to grab the rope, swinging up to wrap her legs around it and begin shimmying across. I didn't know if it was secure enough to hold two people at once, but I knew that I didn't want to give her a chance to decide to cut the rope before I came across, so I stayed right behind her the whole way. As soon as we were on the far side and on solid ground, I jerked the rope to free the grapnel from the house and reeled it in.

To my total lack of surprise, while my back was turned I could hear the girl's boots squelching in the snow as she turned to run away again. I quickly turned, lashed out with the grappling hook, and snagged her foot just as she started to run. She fell flat on her face, sprawled out in the snow as I walked over and pulled to lute off her back.

"Bad luck," I told her, not unsympathetically.

"Isn't that the truth," she grumbled as she turned over.

As the moons broke through the clouds, I felt my heart drop. Before, she had seemed familiar and I couldn't figure out why. I now realized where I had seen the girl before, and why I didn't recognize her right away. The last time I had seen the tall, athletic woman in front of me, she had been a skinny, starving girl, as abused and dirty as I had been. The dirt and bruises on her face now made the resemblance complete enough that it finally came back to me in a rush.

"Runa?" I asked. "Runa Fair-Shield?"

"How do you know my name?" she asked, sitting up in the snow.

"I remember you from Honorhall," I told her, crouching down and laying Finn's Lute gently off to one side. "You were very kind to me once, and I promised you that I would save everyone. I promised that I would find the Dark Brotherhood and ask them to kill Grelod the Kind." I pulled down the muffler and threw back my cowl, revealing my face. "I kept my promise."

"By the gods," Runa whispered. "Aventus? Aventus Aretino?"

I smiled and nodded, feeling my eyes fill up with tears. Before the Brotherhood, before my new life, Runa had been one of the few people to show an interest in whether I had lived or died. She was one of the reasons I had run away from Honorhall Orphanage in the first place, to save her and the other children there. She reached up for me, and I embraced her like a long-lost sister. Both of us crouched there in the snow, holding one another for a long time.

As I pulled back to ask her what she had been doing for all these years, she surprised me by leaning back and pressing her lips against mine. Unlike Dagny's hesitant, tentative kiss, Runa's mouth parted mine with a violence I had never known before, kissing me hungrily and with a passion I hadn't expected.

"What was that for?" I asked when she finally pulled away.

"So that it wouldn't feel so bad when I did this," she whispered, just before head-butting me again.

After the stars cleared from my vision, I looked around to see Runa and the lute were both gone. A clear trail was left in the snow, and I cursed myself for a fool. I jumped to my feet and took off into the cold Solitude night, with Runa just ahead of me, laughing as she ran.

When I caught up to her, I didn't know if I was going to kiss her or kill her, but we were definitely going to be having a long talk.

* * *

…_to be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7: Thieves, Killers, and

**Chapter 7: Thieves, Killers, and Other Upstanding Citizens**

"How can you defend him?" I asked, real anger creeping up into my voice. "Ulfric Stormcloak is a murderer and a tyrant!"

"That's certainly one way to think of it," Professor Gemane mused, seeming to take no offense from my angry tone. "But that's the point of the exercise: thinking about the ways in which different people view different things."

I struggled to calm down as the teacher spoke. Honestly, it wasn't really Ulfric Stormcloak that I was mad at; the last few days had just been stressful, and they didn't look like they were going to get easier any time soon.

"So then we're just supposed to ignore the things he's done?" I asked, moderating my tone.

"You have to keep in mind," Professor Gemane said as he leaned against the edge of his desk, "that to some people, Ulfric Stormcloak is a hero. To others, he's the worst sort of villain. As a bard, you have to be able to judge a room instantly to figure out what the audience believes."

"Well, that's easy enough," Jorn said with a wave of his pale hand. "Just look at what colors the guards are wearing—Stormcloak blue or Imperial red, and you've got your answer."

"Is it really?" Gemane asked with a raised eyebrow. "You think that every tavern in Stormcloak territory drinks to the Bear of Eastmarch? Or that all of the ones in Imperial Skyrim hold up a glass for the health of Jarl Elisif?" He shook his head. "In a civil war, these things become complicated. Civil wars—if I may be allowed the small pun—are rarely civil."

"And that's why you wanted us to read up about 'The Age of Oppression'?" asked Aia with a smile. "It's a brilliant way to illustrate your lesson, sir." I groaned at the obvious flattery, but Gemane preened. Aia was always looking for a way to gain an advantage in the class; the professor was knowledgeable about his subjects, but he was a little too susceptible to having his ego stroked.

"Well, about 'The Age of Oppression' _and_ 'The Age of Aggression,'" replied Professor Gemane. "No one knows which side wrote the tune—or if it was just adopted by some bard from an older song that's been lost—but both sides now use the same musical arrangement with different lyrics to support their chosen beliefs. It helps illustrate the essential point of this lecture."

"Which is what exactly?" I asked with a sharp note. This time, Professor Gemane did seem annoyed, looking at me down his sharp nose with a glare that could cut leather.

"That the two sides are more alike than they would like to admit," he said. "Being a bard means seeing a problem from many points of view, not just your own. I think this assignment will be most illuminating for you in particular, Master Aretino."

* * *

I ran through the dark streets of Solitude, following a girl who had very recently inflicted grievous harm on me. My face hurt from the cold wind whipping into it, and my head ached from being head-butted twice in one night. My stomach roiled and my muscles burned from exertion. She laughed as she ran, moving as lightly over snow and ice as a hart through the forest, carrying Finn's Lute over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes instead of one of the most valuable historical relics in the whole country.

I was furious. I was hurting.

I was having the time of my life.

At some point, I just stopped caring why I was chasing her. Finn's Lute didn't matter. I didn't know if we were going to start fighting again when I caught up to her. Nothing mattered but the chase, the freedom of running and of hunting. I smiled in the cold and dark, feeling for the first time the true joy in just cutting loose and giving it my all. I reveled in being just an animal on the prowl, chasing down my prey as my heart pumped like a war drum in my chest.

I whistled through my teeth, and Pavot appeared out of the night, running at my side. The ice wolf was never far from me, and I had made sure he was near Thane Erikur's house before beginning my break-in. I hadn't expected anything to go wrong, but it comforted me to know that a two-hundred-pound wolf was my backup. I glanced down at the ice wolf; his doggy grin made it clear that he was enjoying the chase just as much as I was. The time had come to end it, though, before she tired of being chased and decided to disappear again.

I gestured forward, pointing at the girl's back, and forked my fingers. Pavot chuffed once and then raced off down a side alley. We had drilled this maneuver a dozen times, but it was our first time using it in the field. I was occasionally struck by just how smart Babette's ice wolf was—and sometimes wondered if he wasn't smarter than I gave him credit for. As Pavot vanished into the darkness, I put on a burst of speed and started closing the gap between us.

Runa looked back over her shoulder at the sound of my hammering footsteps drawing near, cocking a devilish grin as she started pushing herself faster. I nodded to myself; I had expected her to be pacing herself. As we passed by a bin full of garbage, I stuck out my hand and scooped up a frozen piece of trash, then chucked it at Runa's elbow. The frozen ball cracked into the wall just beside her, making her slow down slightly and spin into a defensive posture.

Just as she looked toward the noise, Pavot came barreling out of an alleyway ahead of her. The ice wolf was faster than both of us on our best day, and he crashed into her with the force of a runaway wagon. She only had time to gasp before Pavot put her on the ground, the lute spilling out of her hand and into a snowbank. I gritted my teeth at the sight, but I would have to worry about it later. For now, it was wrapped in oilcloth and unlikely to be anything more than slightly scuffed.

In the seconds it took me to catch up to them, Pavot had wrestled Runa onto her back, where she still thrashed, one hand groping for a belt knife. I calmly stepped on her wrist before bending down to disarm her, tossing the knife aside into the alley's muck.

"I'd relax if I were you," I told her. "Pavot here can get a little jumpy when his prey struggles." The ice wolf growled low in his throat and bared his teeth to back up my words, leaving me to wonder again just how much he understood of what I said.

"Okay, okay," Runa said, seeming more amused than worried. "I guess you win."

"You think this is a game?" I asked in frustration as I went to collect the lute and make certain that it wasn't damaged.

"Of course it's a game," she grinned. "You just take things too seriously." She paused, biting her lip in a way that would have been more distracting if I weren't still furious with her. "I suppose that hasn't changed since the last time I saw you. I remember you being a very serious boy."

"It's not that I was too serious. You were just never serious enough," I returned, squatting down next to her in the snow. I wasn't worried about Runa catching her death of cold even though she was half-pushed into a pile of icy slush; she might be a thief, but she was still a Nord. "You always took too many risks. Do you remember that first day you talked to me?"

"I brought you sausages and bread," she said with a smile.

"And kept some of it for yourself," I pointed out. "You acted like you could never get caught."

"You say that I took too many risks, but you were the one who ran away in the end," Runa replied, her smile turning sad. "When Grelod got killed, we knew you kept your promise… but then you never came back. Samuel said you must have died up in Windhelm. He thought the Brotherhood might have killed you or something."

"Why would the Brotherhood take my contract but kill me too?" I asked in confusion.

"Who knows why the Dark Brotherhood does anything?" she shrugged. "Truth is, I never thought you were dead. I figured you must have just decided you didn't want to be around us anymore and got some soft-hearted adults to take you in."

"Runa…" I started to say. "It wasn't like that. I was going to come back, but…"

"But what?" she asked, her tone angry now. "Did you forget the way?"

"I saved all of you from Grelod!" I half-shouted at her. "I almost died doing it!"

"Saved us?" Runa replied. "You might have gotten old Grelod killed, but it didn't save us."

"What do you mean?" I asked, my blood turning colder than the Solitude night.

"Get your mutt off me, buy me a mead, and I'll tell you the whole story," she said. Pavot snarled at her for being called a mutt, but my hand on the scruff of his neck quieted him down.

"I've got to stash the lute first," I told her, not willing to give her another chance to steal it from me, "but I want to hear the story." I thought for a moment before continuing. "Meet me tonight at the Winking Skeever, just after sunset."

She nodded sullenly, starting to stand as Pavot took his weight off of her. Pavot suddenly leaned forward again, forcing her back into the snow and locking eyes with her. She held up her hands in a posture of surrender, but didn't take her hazel eyes away from the wolf's blue ones. Something invisible seemed to pass between them, and the wolf finally backed off a few steps to let her stand up.

Runa eyed the bag with the lute in it, and I shifted it onto my shoulder to make it clear she wasn't taking it again. She smiled, put the toe of her boot under the dagger I had taken from her and kicked it into the air, where she caught it without looking. She sheathed the knife without taking her eyes off of me.

"See you tonight, Aventus," she purred, backing away from me. "It's a date."

As she vanished into the dark night, I couldn't help but wonder how she had left me feeling like she had gotten the upper hand again, even though I had what we had been fighting over.

* * *

I spent an hour doubling back through the streets of Solitude until I was certain I hadn't been followed. Once I was absolutely sure no one could have tracked me through the dark and snow of the Skyrim night, I crept through back alleys until I reached Proudspire Manor and silently let myself in through the side door. This time, I was ready for the intense dark in the basement; I had put a lantern and striker right next to the door before leaving.

As I stripped out of my armor and changed into plain clothes again, I could feel worry creeping into my bones. The fact that Runa knew my name and face was beginning to hit home, like a cold snake coiled in the pit of my stomach. No one had ever known the whole truth of me before, and revealing my face to an outsider—even a member of the Thieves Guild—was a serious risk for an assassin. I didn't think that she would reveal my secret… but what if she did? What if I was wrong about her?

I slunk through the corridors of the manor to my room, bringing Pavot along with me for mutual warmth. Even though I was sore and bone-tired, I made sure that all of my gear was safely hidden away before anything else. After all of my reckless behavior chasing after Finn's Lute, I was beginning to revert to a more cautious outlook on things. The lute itself I put into an old clothes chest at the foot of my bed, dropping some linens over it, and then locking the chest. It wouldn't keep out someone who knew it was there—but the whole point was that no one should know where it was now.

With everything safely stowed away, I finally shrugged off my shirt and trousers, collapsing into bed with a relieved sigh. I barely managed to get a blanket pulled up over my shoulders before passing out.

When I woke up, Pavot was curled up against me, his doggy breath chuffing into my face as his feet occasionally kicked with the force of some sort of dream. It was still night out, and the windows betrayed no hint of light from outside. I half opened my eyes, listening to the room while keeping my breathing level. Something had woken me up.

I wasn't alone in the room.

I quietly moved my free hand—the other was trapped under the ice wolf's weight—toward my pillow. I kept a spare knife under my pillow in Proudspire Manor and back at the Bards College. If I had learned anything from Cicero, it's that you could never have too many knives. As my hand touched the hilt, the floorboards creaked ever-so-lightly. A tiny sliver of moonlight peaked through the window, casting the room in a grey half-light. I could barely make out the shape of a figure out of the corner of my heavy-lidded eyes.

Part of me began to panic at the sight. Too many of my nightmares had begun just this same way—alone in a room, with someone moving around at the edges of my sight. It wasn't until they came closer that I could see Rolff Stone-Fist or Grelod the Kind or Vigurl Deep-Water, snarling for vengeance against me. I suppressed the fear and concentrated on the reality of the knife in my hand. In my dreams, I was always helpless. No, this was real.

I waited until the figure shifted its weight again, then sat up in one swift motion and threw the dagger at it as hard as I could. I rolled away from Pavot and came up to my feet, grabbing for another knife. The figure thrashed on the ground, kicking and jerking as the knife I had thrown claimed its life. I found my face twisting into an ugly smile. I didn't enjoy killing for its own sake as much as some of my brothers and sisters—but there was a part of me that did enjoy it.. I leaned down, groping for the lantern I kept on my nightstand.

As I lit the lantern, my smile disappeared and the breath stopped in my throat. Laying there in a pool of spreading blood was Dagny, her eyes hollow and unseeing. My knife was stuck in her pale throat, just as it had been in Vigurl's. I started shaking my head, trying to deny what I was seeing. I looked toward the bed, only to find that Pavot was nowhere in sight. Instead, Nelkir was standing there, a bloody long sword in one hand, its tip resting on the ground. In his other hand, he held a severed human head by the hair. It was Runa's, her mouth open in a frozen scream of terror.

"Happy birthday, Aventus," he said, black blood welling up from his mouth as he spoke and running down his chin to stain his fine clothes.

Before I could begin screaming, I woke up.

* * *

I stumbled through the next morning like a draugr, half-dead and grumbling. Jordis was concerned about my health to the point of checking me for fever every few minutes during breakfast, but I was finally able to convince her that I had just slept poorly.

"I can't imagine why," she said with a shake of the head as she cleared the dishes. "Your bed looks so comfortable." She got a dreamy look on her face as she began to immerse the dishes in water. "So comfortable…"

"The bed isn't the problem," I muttered. "Bad dreams."

"You're pushing yourself too hard at school," Jordis said sagely. "My youngest brother had the same problem. Only he was a soldier, not a bard. He would work himself half to death worrying about his training drills, about what his sergeant thought about him, about his uniform being clean enough. All sorts of things. And when he had leave, he would come home and barely be able to sleep from all the worrying."

"What happened with your brother?" I asked, finally starting to wake up a little. "Did he get over worrying so much?"

"You could say that," Jordis responded with a sad smile. "He was killed in battle by the Forsworn." I started to open my mouth to apologize, but she waved it off. "It was a few years ago." She started wiping plates, turning away from me. "It really helped me to understand something, though."

"What's that?" I asked.

"That there's no point worrying about things," she said, finally looking back at me with red-rimmed eyes, "because you're either worrying about things you can control, or about things you can't control. The things you can control, there's no reason to worry about as long as you're doing your best. And the things you can't control… Well, you can't do anything about them, so there's no point upsetting yourself."

"You're saying that people shouldn't try their hardest then?" I said, trying to understand her.

"Of course not," she said with what was almost a sharp look. "Everyone should always try their best. I'm just saying that when you're not training, or planning, or doing, you shouldn't get yourself all twisted up." She paused, then shook her strawberry-blond locks in frustration. "Maybe I'm just being stupid. Wouldn't be the first time."

"I don't think so," I told her. "I think you're actually a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jordis." She smiled a little at that, but it was a smile that said she thought I was just humoring her. "It's just hard for some people to learn how to relax that much, I guess." That was an understatement, really. Most of the assassins I knew were wound tighter than steel wire; Garnag was the exception.

"Will you be back for dinner?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Probably not," I said with some real regret. I had to make a point to spend more time with Jordis; she was a kind person, and I liked that. "I have some things to do tonight, and then I have to get back to school for class tomorrow."

She nodded, and impulsively I hugged her. It was an awkward gesture, since I wasn't used to touching people, but she seemed happy that I had tried. She embraced me back and told me to be careful.

Sadly, it's the one piece of advice I've never been good at following.

As soon as I was out the door, I walked around back to the patio at the rear of Proudspire Manor. I normally enjoyed the sea breeze that came up off the cliffs below Solitude, but it was a chill wind today and I shivered in the sudden cold. Pavot was lounging on the patio, curled up against a stone bench, and I stooped to scratch him behind the ears. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't recall letting him out this morning. I shrugged it off, supposing that Jordis must have been thoughtful enough to do it for me; it was just like her.

"She's not going to see you today either," came a voice from behind me. I forced myself to not jump at the sound, but it was very difficult. I hadn't heard anyone moving, and I certainly hadn't seen anyone. Pavot growled deep in his throat but didn't move from his spot as I stood to look at my unexpected guest.

Standing no more than ten feet from me was Nelkir. How had he gotten onto the patio without me seeing him? I could see some snow dusting the cuffs of his trousers, which meant that he must have leapt across—like Frothar and I had done one day—but he had done it without drawing my notice at all. I cursed myself for being so distracted and sloppy; civilian life would get me killed yet.

"Good morning, Nelkir," I said as though his appearance were the most natural thing in the world. "I take it you mean Dagny?"

"You take it correctly," he said, mocking my polite tone. I could feel my cheeks begin to burn at his snide response. "By the gods, she's certainly done a number on you. She'll have you saying 'milord' and 'milady' before you know it, and holding your pinkie finger out while you drink tea."

"I don't like tea," I said automatically.

"You will by the time she's done with you," he laughed. "Be thankful for a day of freedom!"

"Is Dagny still not feeling well?" I asked, trying to keep my voice civil.

"If by 'not feeling well,' you mean 'bleeding like a stuck pig,' then yes," he chuckled. Nelkir walked up to me and clapped me on the shoulder with a smile that looked out of place on his pale, drawn face. "That means it's just you and me today."

"I beg your pardon?" I said, genuinely confused. I was also somewhat uneasy about Nelkir touching me; I didn't like being touched by strangers at the best of times, and something about Nelkir's fake-cheerful shoulder slapping put me off. His hand was far too warm for the weather, almost like there was a fever burning inside his thin frame. I wondered, not for the first time, if Nelkir was sick.

"If you're going to be dating my sister," he proclaimed, snaking his arm around my shoulders and walking me away from Pavot, "then you and I are going to have to become friends."

"Nelkir," I started with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach, "I'm glad that you want to be friends, but I was really planning on spending the day with Dagny."

"And she can't make it," he reiterated as though talking to a slightly slow child, "so you have plenty of time to come drinking with me." At my look of surprise, he laughed and pulled out a coin purse. "No fear, I'm buying. I know that a student has a limited budget for fun, so the drinks are on me today." He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice as though someone might overhear, cupping his hands around his mouth melodramatically. "Actually, my father is paying for drinks, but don't tell Frothar or he'll get all in a huff about it." He laughed wildly again.

"Are you sure you aren't already drunk?" I asked with growing amusement.

"Not 'already,' Aventus," he insisted, then leaned so close his breath tickled my cheek. "More like 'still.'"

I couldn't help myself. Despite his unwanted closeness and my previous worries about him, something about Nelkir's demeanor made it impossible to stay annoyed at him when he was cheerful. I burst out laughing, feeling a weight lift from me. It felt good to just let go, and within a few moments both of us were laughing our fool heads off in the middle of a gathering snowfall. White flakes clung to Nelkir's dark locks, giving him an air of softness he didn't normally possess.

"Fine then," I finally conceded, wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes. "You can buy me a drink—one drink!" I insisted. "It's barely noon yet."

"Aventus," Nelkir said with a smile, throwing his arm around my shoulders again, "it's already evening somewhere in the world. Don't be so provincial!"

* * *

I can't tell you where the day went. One drink turned into two drinks, and two drinks turned into I-don't-know-how-many. Nelkir ran me from one tavern to the next, buying drinks for the few people who had meandered in so early in the day, leading rousing toasts to the Empire, and rushing off again before I had time to do more than gulp down my mead. I've never cared for the taste of mead. But once you've had a few of them, you don't care so much about the taste.

We chatted about life in Solitude, about what Whiterun had been like before the Stormcloaks came, we sang "The Age of Aggression" more times than I can count, and we got into at least one brawl that I think we won. Everything was a blur after the first hour, except for the occasional moments of terrible sobriety brought on by the stinging cold and whipping snow whenever we stepped out of one tavern to go looking for the next one.

"We drink to our youth," we howled together in the streets, "for the days come and gone! For the age of aggression is just about done!" We were off-key and probably mangled the words a few times, but we didn't care. "We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own! With our blood and our steel, we will take back our homes!" As we passed by random strangers, they would harmonize with us for a line or two before laughing and waving us on our way.

Under all of the sullenness, the bad humor, the angry looks, I was beginning to discover a Nelkir that I don't think Frothar or Dagny ever saw. He was a carouser and a heavy drinker, but he was spreading goodwill for the Empire everywhere he went, as surely as any bard I'd ever seen. We never left a tavern without the patrons lifting a mug in Jarl Elisif's name, and usually with them proclaiming her the High Queen of Skyrim. We never left a tavern without the staff smiling at Nelkir's generosity and the customers slapping him on the back as we left. Even when we got into a fight, the losers were laughing it up by the time we all hauled ourselves off the ground and back to the bar for another round.

Nelkir spread good cheer wherever he went, and by the end of the day, he had none left for himself.

Our last stop was the Winking Skeever. It had taken every ounce of willpower I had to keep from forgetting about my meeting with Runa, so I kept steering us to other places. I figured if we hit the Skeever last, then at least I would pass out in the place I needed to be. I wasn't thinking especially clearly by this point; if I had been in my right mind, I never would have considered losing consciousness in a place where I was meeting a potential enemy.

As we sat at a corner table together, Nelkir still drinking and me nursing a mug of hot tea, I could see his good mood slipping away by inches. His face had turned pensive and brooding, his dark eyes seeming to disappear into the shadows cast by the tavern's dim lights.

"What's wrong?" I asked him, feeling the tea beginning to restore my wits if not my equilibrium.

"Nothing," he said sullenly. "Everything." He took a deep drink from his mug and slammed it back on the table, drawing nervous looks from the serving maids. "You know what the worst thing about a good day is, Aventus?" he asked. I shook my head. "It ends. It always ends." He knocked the empty mug over with one finger, watching the few remaining drops spatter on the table.

"My mother said that good days are our strength for when we have bad ones," I told him.

"Doesn't sound like Diana," he said glumly. "She mostly talks in insults."

"My real mother," I replied. That was something she had said, long ago. I hadn't thought about it in years. "You don't like Diana then?"

"She gets away with too much," he said bitterly. "If I tried half the things she does with Balgruuf, he'd have me disowned and exiled."

"I guess being the Dragonborn goes a long way," I said, not being willing to argue about it. Diana wasn't perfect, that much I could agree with—but I was too hopelessly in love with her to be able to acknowledge more than that.

"That's the world for you," Nelkir said, standing up shakily. "Special people get to walk all over the rest of us."

"I think you're special, Nelkir," I said before I could stop myself. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, which was only heightened by his gale of harsh laughter.

"No, I'm not," he cackled. "Nor are you, Aventus Aretino—not compared to luminaries like Jarl Balgruuf the Greater or Diana Dragonborn. In a century, you and I will be dust and they'll be legends." He paused for a moment, leaning against the table with both hands as though holding himself steady in a stormy sea. "You'd think that people who shined so brightly would give off more light to those around them, but we just get to live in the shadows of their greatness."

"Do you need help getting home?" I offered, half-standing before he waved me off.

"I'm not going home," he slurred. "If I go home, Dagny will ask me if I've seen you, and I don't feel like lying to her at the moment."

"Why would Dagny ask…" I trailed off, furrowing my brow in confusion. I looked up at him, my stomach churning suddenly with realization. "You lied to me." It wasn't a question. "Dagny wasn't sick at all. She was waiting at home for me this whole time."

"Yes," he admitted, "but didn't you have fun today?"

Nelkir laughed as he walked toward the door. My fury came boiling up out of me and I stood, intent on following him out into the street. I wasn't sure what I intended to do once I caught him, but before I could close the distance, someone stepped into my path.

"I'm not running that late, am I?" asked Runa, pulling her hood back from her eyes and shaking snow from her boots as she walked into the Winking Skeever. "You look pissed."

Nelkir paused just outside the door to the tavern, looking back at me with wicked amusement on his face.

"Maybe you don't care that much about missing out on a day with my sister after all," he jibed as I tried uselessly to push past Runa. She looked back the dark-haired boy in confusion.

"Who the hell is this guy?" she asked. "And why does his sister care what you do?"

"She doesn't know about Dagny?" Nelkir asked in mockery. "Well, well, well. Which one is the 'other woman,' I wonder? Aventus Aretino, a two-timer. I never would have guessed."

"Gods damn you, Nelkir," I finally hissed in frustration. Runa finally stopped holding me back, but by the time I disentangled myself from her, and got outside Nelkir had already vanished into the night. I could hear him belting out the lines of "The Age of Aggression" as he disappeared into the snow.

"We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives!" his voice echoed back to me, fading as he got farther away. "And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us…"

I paused in the street, dizzy and feeling the beginnings of a hangover creeping in. I had been drunk—drunker than I had ever been before—most of the day, but trying to sober up for much of the last hour. I had no idea if the headache and nausea were symptoms of starting a hangover or just being so upset at Nelkir that I could chew iron bars and spit nails. Dagny was going to be so angry at me; I didn't even know if I could point the blame at Nelkir without making her even angrier. She would probably believe me, but then she would be angry at me for believing Nelkir and angry at Nelkir for tricking me, and she would just wind up twice as angry.

"If I'd known you had a prior engagement," Runa drawled behind me, "I would have shown up fashionably late."

"It was nothing," I said without looking back at her. I kept staring into the snowy Solitude night, as though if I stared hard enough, Nelkir would suddenly reappear.

"It didn't sound like nothing," she replied. "It sounded like you're dating that guy's sister and he thinks you're cheating on her with me." She pressed up against my back in such a way that I couldn't tell if she was trying to be sensuous or just trying to steal my coin purse. "Not that we're anywhere near that yet, mind you. And what's an assassin doing with a girlfriend any-"

Before she could finish, I whirled around and pushed her against the wall of the tavern. I'd had enough of people winding me up, thinking that they were so much cleverer than me.

"You shouldn't call me an assassin in public," I whispered into her ear. "And assassins do as they damn well please. 'Nothing is forbidden.'" It felt good to quote Nazir; it made me feel a little more confident.

The fear in her eyes brought me back to myself a little. I couldn't deny that it felt good to see genuine worry on Runa's face after all she had done to me yesterday, but this was someone I had once called a friend. What sort of person did it make me to treat her so? Not the sort of person I wanted to be. Cicero would have been proud of me, I suddenly thought, and that realization made me back away from her suddenly in shame.

"I'm sorry," I said, rubbing my hands across my face. "It's been a long day."

"Apology accepted," Runa said, though her tone told me that she was accepting more from fear of what would happen if she didn't than because she thought I was sincere. She shook herself once and seemed to recover some of her street-tough demeanor. "You'll probably wind up apologizing a lot more than that before the night is through, even for things that aren't really your fault." She gestured toward the tavern door.

"Let me guess," I said as I walked into the Winking Skeever. "Drinks are on me?"

"A lot of drinks," she agreed heartily, following me in out of the cold.

I groaned inside. It had been a long weekend, and it didn't look like the next week was going to be any easier.

* * *

…_to be continued…_


End file.
